I am being serenaded by a symphony of rainbow lorikeets as I sit here on my front deck looking over the shimmering waters of Port Stephens. They are feeding on blossom in the canopy of the gum trees. Seemingly happy after the heavy Saturday rains, they are content with both food and water to fill their bellies.
The autumn sun warms both my front deck and legs. I have black pants on, they absorb the heat to the point my legs are almost burning. I will soon be forced to move inside.
Despite the beauty of the day, all motivation has left me. I am feeling a little old today, the aches and pains are not only felt in my body, but they are also reflected in my mood. I am a little tormented. I am aware of the reason; it is though, one I am unwilling and unable to share.
I have written a lot about my struggle with anxiety and depression over the years, I have put many hours of work into my mental health, but I must be honest, both take ongoing maintenance when you are a “lifer” like me. But it is something I am determined to keep at for the sake of my quality of life and for my family and friends.
Since making the move almost four years ago to my bayside suburb, I have been amazed by the people I have met. I am so lucky to have so many new friends and even luckier to have retained so many old ones. For the most part they have stuck with me like glue through the ups and downs, through good times and bad and I am so honoured to have “connected” with them on such a deep level.
I consider myself to be a reasonably deep and complicated person, but at the same time, it has been so important to me that I have been able to open up and trust my friends with my story, and I hope in doing so, I have been able to help and support them in return.
Somethings though, I cannot share, and these treasures of insight relate to my mental health journey, but I must say confronting my past pains and challenges has help me to understand the kind of person I have become. I like to think I have gained empathy for others suffering, and wisdom that has afforded me a greater understanding of human behaviour. But I’m despondent that I am in no useful position to share that life experience and wisdom with others.
While I can sit here and recognise my attributes, I am saddened by my total lack of vocational identity.
Due to some health issues, I have been out of the workforce for many years, except for the occasional opportunity that hasn’t been conducive to my physical requirements, and this makes me sad. It often makes me lose sight and question what I do have to offer. It’s funny how your family and friends seem to be able to see your qualities at a time when you are most blinded to them.
Employers...well, all they seem to want is energy, vibrancy, and youthful exuberance, along with experience in the position. Never have I found a job advertisement looking for people with what I term “life experience”. It seems to count for nothing these days. It feels like ageism is alive and well unless you are willing to give your time “freely” in the form of volunteering, then you are snapped up, and so not surprisingly most volunteer organisations are made up of the "grey army"...it seems we are good enough to commit to organisations like the SES, Surf Lifesaving (actually saving lives) and in my case a native animal hospital but not good enough to be considered for paid positions so easily.
It is quite disappointing when younger generations often see people their parents age as redundant when it comes to contributing effectively to the workforce and in our day to day lives.
I am by no means saying that all young people feel this way, I believe after having applied for many positions that when making decisions, age is a contributing factor to many when we are not considered for positions in the workforce.
My days are still busy, I love photography and writing (which I need to do more of), as I said, I volunteer, I am a proud wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend, but I still lose sight of these qualities at times and occasionally wallow in self-pity believing I am not contributing enough. It is sad that our self- worth can be so tied into “what we do” instead of “who we are”.
I was recently sitting and talking to a friend and some new acquaintances, when the topic of vocation came up, I piped up and felt the need to say “and I am a washed-up radio producer” trying to make myself believe I “am” something. My friend in her wisdom jumped in on feeling my discomfort and said, “and a photographer and a writer”, and I thank her for understanding me sometimes better than I know myself when I all too quickly forget who I am.
