rules

On getting older and making CHOICES

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IMG_6378When I sit down to write this blog, I rarely know what I’m going to talk about until I start typing.

I tend to perch myself on the edge of the sofa, thus adding an element of drama to proceedings, turn over all the things I’ve been thinking and talking about in my mind, and then start writing about one of them. (I realise you didn’t necessarily ask about my writing process, but I’ve been enjoying the My Writing Day series in the Guardian so much that I just couldn’t help myself).

And today, that process made me realise that the subject of most relevance to me right now is the variety of CHOICES we make as we get older. So here’s some thoughts on that:

When Wednesday rolls around and I have special, dedicated time for doing my freelance writing thing, the whole day is about choice. Who will I pitch to? Which idea is worth pursuing? Will I let myself be distracted by the pile of hand-washing that suddenly looks so appealing now that I’m supposed to be doing work? Or will I chase the dollar and get to 6pm before realising I haven’t breathed an ounce of fresh air (or as fresh as London can offer) since yesterday? So many choices and so little time. I spend hours wondering if I’m making the right decisions, as I’m sure we all do.

On a related note, I’ve come to realise how helpful it is when editors choose to spend a few seconds sending a response to a pitch to let you know that it’s not quite right. Nobody likes to be rejected but it’s still so much more helpful than silence. I can tick them off on my list, move on, and try to do better next time. I know that people are busy – and that lots of editors receive so many emails each day that responding is just not feasible – but when you spend your day seemingly sending emails into the abyss, it’s good to feel acknowledged, and hopefully one step closer to getting it right.

Our time is precious and choosing who we spend it with is a serious decision. Sometimes we choose to fight for more time with a person, and sometimes we decide to step away because, for whatever reason, the relationship just isn’t giving us what we need. My new rule is: if it feels like someone is stealing your time rather than giving you the gift of theirs, it’s time to make a change.

This week I chose to take Facebook off my phone. It was making me feel anxious and stressed and constantly in demand and I didn’t like it. Even though the little red notifications were rarely aimed at me personally, I felt that if I didn’t click right now to see what was going on, I’d be missing out or being disorganised in some way. I haven’t ‘left’ Facebook – chill out – I’ve just left it on my laptop for looking at when I want to, rather than carrying it around in my hand all the time. And I feel a lot better for it.

I like writing on here about my life, the lessons I’ve learnt, the things I find interesting, and I like sharing tips and advice that I can only hope someone will find useful. Whether you write for a living or for fun, you have to make a choice about what you will and won’t share. Whenever I come to this blog, I think through the unwritten policies that decide what I write about. For example, I want you to feel like you know me but not so well that I may as well have hung my laundry around your lounge. I want you to know that I’m human without making myself too vulnerable. I want to talk about my marriage without sharing so much that I somehow bring it to an end. It’s nice to have a place where I make the rules – and where I can choose to break them any time I like.

For the last week or so I’ve been getting up just a little bit earlier than usual to start writing some fiction. I don’t really know how to do that (but does anyone before they try?) so I’ve just been sitting down with a pen and my idea and seeing where it takes me. I do about 20 minutes a day whilst still wearing my pyjamas and with my husband sound asleep upstairs and each session gets me about two or three pages of words. Not words I’d like anyone to read right now, mind – my goodness no – but it’s a start. I realised that if I wanted to try, I needed to choose to find more hours in the day. It turns out they are there if you’re willing to respond to a slightly earlier alarm.

It’s very much acknowledged now that we’re a bit older that we have to build time into our lives to do nothing. To choose to have days when we class ourselves as being busy, but what we mean is that we’ll be busy doing nothing. Looking after ourselves. Managing our mental health. Eating our way through our second bag of Wispa Bites. Whatever. This time is ours. Please don’t come round.

We’re about to go on holiday and I’m choosing – as much as possible – to have an internet free time. I want to look at Florence, not my phone. I want to scroll through lists of gelato flavours, not pictures of other people’s lattes. And I want to talk to my husband face-to-face, rather than typing away about idontevenknowwhat on a device that I’m becoming more and more sure is trying to kill me. I choose to have some time off, and I can’t bloody wait.

Don’t look too keen: Why dating rules were made to be broken

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Dating rules can be ridiculous.

Leave at least an hour between text messages.
Don’t accidentally point at wedding dresses whilst you’re out together.
Don’t do too much smiling in case they think you’re a psychopath.

Urgh, I’m glad to be out of it.

The rule I always struggled the most with was ‘Don’t look too keen’.

Now, this is not because I’m a crazy person with a body secretly tattooed with the name of every man I’ve ever admired (I’m afraid of needles, thanks very much) but because this rule is actually unfinished. What it should say is: ‘Don’t look too keen unless you’re ABSOLUTELY 100% SURE that they are equally keen on you in which case, do what you like’.

The game goes something like this.

  • Meet someone you like.
  • Appear interested but nonchalant, like a Coronation Street viewer passing the time with an episode of Eastenders. You’re here, you’re looking, but you’ve just got so much else going on.
  • Commence dating. Brush your hair and clean your teeth but don’t let them think it was all for them. There’s a good chance you’d have done that today anyway.
  • Begin to incorporate occasional smiling and physical contact into dates. Maybe even laugh at their jokes but don’t play with your hair. It’ll totally give the game away.
  • Undertake mind reading exercises/ask a couple of their mates if they’ve mentioned you, to confirm that they definitely do like you precisely as much as you like them.
  • Say something encouraging like “You’re nice” or “Those jeans fit you well around the waist” to let them know that actually, yes, you are interested too.
  • Enter balanced, game free relationship. Reply to their text messages when you want and perhaps even answer the phone when they ring you (unless Corrie’s on, obviously).
  • Get married. State just how keen you are in front of everybody you know.
  • Schedule regular occasions on which to demonstrate your deep felt keenness throughout the year, such as anniversaries, birthdays and Pancake Day.
  • Specifically do not appear keen on anybody else at all for the rest of your life, with the following permitted exceptions: David Beckham, Leonard DiCaprio (Romeo and Juliet era preferred) and anybody offering free chocolates, as long as you make sure you get enough free samples for both of you.

It’s an exhausting business. But here’s a thing nobody tells you. That isn’t really the end of it.

If you’re somebody who has worked tirelessly for years to ensure you’re always on the right side of the keenness tracks, taking occasional breaks to kick yourself hard in the shin for accidentally misreading a high-five as a marriage proposal, your guard never quite goes down.

Dating rules were meant to be brokenI think it’s because dating teaches us to be so cautious that when we do let ourselves relax, an alarm bell rings inside our heads and says WOAH WOAH WOAH YOU’RE VULNERABLE! QUICK, DELETE HIS NUMBER AND START PRONOUNCING HIS NAME INCORRECTLY! YOU NEED TO WIN BACK SOME POWER!

It can come up out of the blue. You can be asking an innocent question about the weekend ahead and your options for mutual socialising, and all of a sudden you’re feeling the need to clarify that you were just wondering what they were up to and you don’t even want to hang out with them anyway, and you have so many other options on the table you can hardly wade through them, whilst they look on, baffled.

It can be difficult to shake the dating game off. Of course some elements apply forever – it’s nice to listen to what people have to say instead of just saying “Uhuh” every ten seconds and continuing to look at Twitter, and washing is always a positive activity, but once you’re in a relationship it’s nice just to have a bit of trust and stop all this fannying about it.

The dating game is just that – a game. Sometimes you win – and by win I mean you meet somebody you like and who likes you and that you enjoy spending time together for an appropriate length of time (whether that be forever, or until you realise that you just can’t get past your differing opinions on who made a better Batman), and sometimes you lose, by which I mean that it leaves you wondering whether you should just marry your cat and be done with it.

But when it does work out, you have to just throw the rule book out and admit that you do indeed like another human being. Relationships do make you vulnerable because you can’t enter into one without admitting that actually you are rather keen. Queen Keen of Keen Town, actually, and you don’t care who knows it.

All you can do is try and find yourself in a situation where everybody is as keen as each other so that that never feels like a bad thing. With somebody who also believes that eight is the optimum number of kisses to include at the end of a text message, and who feels just as strongly about the apostrophe as you do, and who agrees that, yes, Pancake Day really is the greatest day of the year.

Relationships: Is this a test?

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IMG_4999People use a lot of different words to describe relationships: a journey, an adventure, a one way ticket to Smug Town… And whilst they’re all true (and the weather here in Smug Town really is wonderful at this time of year), they’re not the first words I would use. I would say that relationships are a test.

But, unlike school or university or learning to operate a car, this test doesn’t have an end point. There’s no exam or results day or dude willing to give you a licence if you just promise to start using your rear-view mirror. This test goes on indefinitely. As long as you’re together, you’ll be tested every minute of every day for the rest of your life. Sounds good, huh?

And though I realise that could sound like a bad thing – who wants to take A-level French every day? Non merci! In my experience, relationship tests are a lot more fun. Though now I think about it, they do involve a lot of the same modules…

1. Listening and interpretation 
The most valuable lesson you will learn is the difference between hearing what somebody has said and listening to what they meant. It’s a tough one to nail though, believe me. Let’s have a go now.

If I say “The bin needs changing” do I mean:
a) I love how full our bin is! Let’s keep it exactly as it is.
b) Let’s build Rubbish Mountain! Pass me those broken egg shells, will you?
c) It’s your turn to take the bin out. Please do it immediately.

Did you get it right? I hope so because if you went for anything other than c) then life is going to involve a lot more arguments than you might want.

Let’s try another one. If your husband says: “I’m at the pub. I’m just going to have one more drink and I’ll be home in an hour,” does he mean:
a) I’m actually already one my way home – I’m going to get back early and surprise you!
b) I’m being held here against my will. Please send help.
c) You might as well go to bed, I could be some time.

Unfortunately, the correct answer is c.

2. Speaking
There is a very close link between this module and the one above. If you want somebody to understand what it is that you’re really trying to say then you need to learn how to say it. Let me give you an example.

I used to think that if my other half asked me what was wrong and I just sighed and said “Nothing” then he would be able to use telepathy to figure out what was really going on. To me it was perfectly obvious that ‘nothing’ meant I was irritated that he’d left the bathroom light on AGAIN, that he finished all the milk before establishing my calcium levels, and that he kept picking holes in Coronation Street story lines. Or at least I did until I realised that he thought ‘nothing’ meant just that. I was sat there brimming with anger and he was just carrying on with his life like nothing was wrong. If I was ever going to get my point across, I was going to have to start using actual words.

I recommend that you do the same.

3. Writing 
In this modern world, relationships are lived out on email, text message, social media… which presents a constant test of your ability to write the right thing down. It’s crucial you establish ground rules to help avoid a word-based catastrophe.

What is your approach to texting each other? Do you include one kiss, three or 12? What is your standpoint on acronyms and trendy word shortenings? And greeting cards – what occasions warrant such a note? Are ready-printed poems acceptable or do you expect your own personalised verse?

If you don’t work this stuff out early doors then somewhere down the line one of you is going to get in big trouble. You’ll be sat innocently reading the paper on the fourth anniversary of the first time you went food shopping together and all of a sudden you’ll be presented with a card with a photograph of the two of you selecting bananas on the front and you’ll have nothing to offer in return. Don’t be that guy.

But don’t worry, the longer you’re together, the easier the tests will become.

You’ll learn how to ensure that an empty bin doesn’t mark the start of a rubbish fuelled quarrel, and that the sound of you exhaling isn’t enough to make your other half run for the door. Before you know it you’ll be texting sweet nothings and writing them limericks just to celebrate the fact that it’s Monday.

Just make sure you always check your spelling and grammar. Mistakes like that will lose you precious marks.

Marriage: Why I’m changing my name

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IMG_1226I’ve decided to change my name when we’re married.

Not Charlotte – I’ll stick with that for at least a little bit longer (Nothing Good Rhymes With Petula would be a terrible name for a blog) – just my surname for now.

With the guest list a close, migraine inducing second, this has been the hardest decision on the marriage planning list. Yes, it was tricky choosing which heel would look most profound with my dress, and which flowers would best complement the venue’s exquisite wooden beams, but deciding how my post would be addressed for the rest of my life has been a little more taxing.

I have changed my mind more times than I do when looking at a restaurant menu. Sticking with Reeve is the equivalent of ordering a nice safe steak – familiar, medium rare, and only likely to cause problems if spelt with an ‘s’ on the end (I can no more stomach two steaks than I can being referred to as ‘Reeves’). Whereas changing to my new, married name is like selecting a Bouillabaisse. Sure, I know how to spell it (thanks to Google) but I’ve not grown up with it. Will I still look and feel like me when I’ve got it?

The only way to make this kind of decision is by listing the pros and cons of each option. To be Mrs B or not to be Mrs B – that is the question:

Reasons TO change

1. A post wedding project
The wedding is over, the honeymoon is complete, the gifts are all unwrapped and the cards are gathering dust – what the hell do I do with myself next? Bake a quiche and enjoy marital bliss? Take the Volvo I imagine will automatically appear on the drive as soon as we say ‘I do’ for a spin?

Changing my name will give me a nice meaty project to get my teeth into. I will have to ring everyone – the mortgage people, the council tax people, the trillion companies behind all the shop clubcards that prevent my purse from shutting… I’ll have a whale of a time. And I’m sure they’ll all want to hear how the wedding went too.

2. Bye bye school
When I was at school, I’d have liked some time off being Charlotte Reeve. She was deeply uncool (conjugating French verbs was one of her hobbies) and pleased if she just managed to get through the day without anyone laughing directly in her face.

So changing my name can be the final stage in shaking off my teenage years and rebranding as the new, super trendy, adult Charlotte, free to conjugate without judgment. Oui, elle peut.

3. They will never find me
Hey, people I grew up with! You know how you think it’s hilarious to find pictures from when we were kids with bad hair and ocean sized eyebrows, and upload them to Facebook and tag me in them? Well, if I change my name then you’re going to have to work a lot harder to find me, and I’ll have an excuse to just point blank deny that the fruit bowl-haircutted creature in the photo is me. If only they’d invent a ‘I hope your scanner explodes’ button…

Reasons NOT to change

1. Admin
While some people might call the process of changing your name a ‘project’, others would deem it an administrative nightmare. Changing my name means calling every mug with the keys to my money, my right to travel, and the ability to give me points in exchange for the use of my own shopping bag, and then waiting by the letter box in the hope that an avalanche of newly printed plastic arrives. For someone who hates being on hold as much as I do, sticking with Reeve would be a wise decision.

2. A comedy of errors
I have had some phenomenal variations of my surname over the years: ‘Charlotte Rave’, ‘Mr Charlotte Greeve’ and my most recent favourite ‘The Charlotte Reeve’ show that even the simplest name can send a mailing system wild. I have put so much energy into getting people to understand that my name is Reeve not Reed, Breathe or Steve that I’m not sure I can take another one on.

3. Sorry, are you talking to me?
Deciding to be referred to as Mrs is one thing, but remembering to answer to it is another. I can just imagine: My name will be shouted into the dentist waiting room, or over the tannoy at the supermarket ham counter, and I’ll be looking around gormlessly for its owner to come forward before catching a glimpse of my new Clubcard and realising it’s me. Remembering to respond when called will be just another thing to add to my ‘To do’ list.

It’s a tough one to call.

And I’ve really battled with it. The main reason I thought I’d stick with my maiden name is because I worried that changing wasn’t a very feminist thing to do. Surely we can just be called whatever we like and still be married? I could change my name to Forrest Gump and still be his wife ’til death do us part if I wanted, couldn’t I? (Though I fear getting through passport control could be a struggle.)

And that’s quite right. But, in my case, that is precisely why I am changing. Because I want to and, as a wise friend gently reminded me, feminism is about women deciding what happens to them so I won’t be kicked out of the club just yet.

And anyway, I think it’s worth changing, if only for the anecdotes I’ll gather during the process. If my experience as a Reeve is anything to go by, I’ve got some interesting post coming my way.

Welcome to the house of fun

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IMG_2514Only when you can legitimately use the phrase “Whilst you’re under MY ROOF you will live by MY RULES” do you truly feel like an adult.

When we bought our home I became a number of things: an official grown up, in more debt that I can count, a cohabitee and a co-mortgage holder. But, more alarmingly, the purchase of land and walls and rooms to call my own made me become even more unreasonable than I ever thought possible.

If it wasn’t weird, disgusting and, frankly, logistically problematic for a woman to wee all around her house, marking her territory like a dog with a medieval style moat, then by god I would do it.

You see, the wonderful thing about having a place of your own is that – with the exception of boilers, power cuts and unexpected mice who pop by uninvited – you can control what happens within it. You decide which will be your handbag drawer, how the DVD filing system works, and your policy on how long it’s acceptable for the fridge door to be left open.

And this is fine when it’s just you in the house, queen of your one-bed castle. But what about when the king comes home? Or you have guests? How do you make sure everybody keeps to the house rules without making them wish they’d never visited?

I find it very hard to strike this balance. In theory, I love having people over, inviting them into our home, telling them the riveting story behind the purchase of our curtains, welcoming them hilariously to Ikea when they enter our bedroom. But in practice, the edge is taken off somewhat when they arrive and – instead of concentrating on the excitement of seeing a loved one – all I can think is: How soon is too soon to ask you to take your shoes off?

And when I do eventually ask, I try and disguise the level to which it matters to me (which is LOADS in case you hadn’t already gathered) by laughing and apologising and waving my hands about to shake off the illusion of *crazy*. It definitely works.

But friends – though they may silently think you’re in need of psychotherapy – will at least humour you in the interests of a quiet life. But family find having you attempt to rule the roost a little strange. You see, adults you’ve grown up with are so used to telling you what to do, that it’s very odd to suddenly find yourself saying “Mum, can you use a coaster please?!” when five minutes ago she was telling you to get out of the pantry, stop eating the glacé cherries and do your homework.

I spend the duration of any visit having to hold myself back from stalking our caller’s every movement. What are they getting up to in that bathroom? They aren’t dropping crumbs on the rug are they?! My priorities are all in the wrong order.

Of course it doesn’t really matter if a hot drink touches the table, or a shoe sets foot on the floor, or even if – god forbid – the butter knife ventures into the honey. I should just be grateful that anyone has travelled to see me.

There must be a compromise. I don’t see me becoming any less controlling any time soon – especially considering the level to which the knife/honey scenario made me shudder – and I don’t think my friends or family are going to come a-calling again if I keep putting my hand under their chin every time they take a bite of biscuit.

So next time, I think it’s best that I go to them. It’s only so long before following someone into your bathroom goes from ‘funny’ to ‘restraining order’.