Do-over

I used to think it was very strange that my brother had an uncle younger than himself. Even stranger, the fact that my grandmother had her last child (at 40 years of age), after her eldest child – my mother – gave birth to her first child (at 20 years of age).

Now that I have reached the meteoric heights of my 40s, it seems less strange. Well, not the 20 year gap between my grandmother’s first and last child, or the notion of becoming a grandmother at 40, but having a child at 40 doesn’t seem strange at all.

What IS strange to me, is the concept of people still having kids in their early 20s, which means that by the time they reach my age, they could well be a grandparent. When I see shows like Australian Idol or the like, I am shocked that the performers’ parents look my age. I wonder how someone my age could possibly have almost-grown children when I, myself, am still contemplating (only now) embarking on the parenthood journey.

Today I received the quarterly magazine from the college I lived at while I attended University. Each time I one arrives, I scour the pages, considering the photos of current college residents. Unlike the broader and more diverse University population, they are usually fresh out of school and in their late teens or possibly their early 20s.

I try to remember my own face at 18 years of age and wonder how I compared to the bright-eyed enthusiasm beaming back at me from the Alumni magazine. Putting aside the fact that the college did not print a newsletter when I attended, I cannot reconcile the fact that 24 years have passed since I first entered the musty and unwelcoming corridors of what-was-to-be-my-home for a couple of years.

Even as I typed that line, I thought that surely it must only be 14 years. Surely my subtraction has gone awry somewhere? It means I have to wonder what the hell I have been doing for the past 24 years! It means I look at the current shiny batch of collegians with envy, and – worse still – regret.

Why can’t that be me, I wonder, wishing more than anything that I could live the past 20 years again. Differently.

I want a do-over. I want to hit the “Undo (Typing)” button and be 18 years old with my whole life ahead of me.

I cannot begin to even think of the number of things I would do differently. And that’s sad. There are so few things I would do the same. And that’s even sadder.

I remember my brother surprising us with a visit home from university when I was in my final year of high school and sitting exams. He picked me up from school and though I wasn’t one to stress about exams in those days, I was probably complaining about what was expected of us. I still remember him telling me to make the most of that time. High School. He said that everything gets harder after that. University. Work. Life. He was right.

My niece cringes when I try to offer her ‘life lessons’. Usually about important issues – don’t start shaving your legs unless you really have to; don’t over-pluck your eyebrows; white heels are never a good look etc. But, there are some lessons I wish I had paid more attention to when I was younger.

I recall being at basketball training one day, at a time when I was only 15 or 16 but playing in a senior women’s representative team. A teammate, who seemed old at the time but was possibly only about 30, told me how much she envied me; how much she wished she were me. To her, I had all of this potential and my life ahead of me. To me then, in the throes of a battle with anorexia and life seemingly bleak, she made no sense. And yet, I have remembered the incident. The conversation.

I feel the same when I see a group of young women – fit, healthy and alive. Before life’s pressures start to wear one down. Before bits start to sag. Before exercise becomes a chore to fit into a busy day. Before you suddenly realise you are in your mid 30s and single and wonder where the hell life has gone.

My life is (I hope) far from over. But there are so many things I should have done, that I didn’t. Decisions which should have been different. Rules obeyed and dreams deferred. There is some saying about how you should regret only what you have done. Not what you haven’t. I would like to think I could live by this tenet in future, so that I am not sitting here in another 20+ years, writing of my regret.

So then – if they would listen - I would be saying (to these collegians staring back at me as I turn the magazine’s pages) to make the most of what you have. You only get one chance and life is shorter than you think.