The Next Holder of Wisdom

 

Having completed my last assignment for Year 2 of my Law degree, I should be feeling elated and excited to finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I remember this stage well last year, and how relieved and excited I was to buy my new box file, tidy all my notes, and proudly place them on my shelf.

But this year, I just feel sadness.

This year has been hard. Not in the sense that studying itself has been challenging, but in almost every other aspect of my chaotic life.

Managing my youngest son’s anaphylaxis, his health conditions, relentless appointments, and school has been tough.

And then there was my husband’s own battle with his health, which grounded us last summer and made us realise just how fragile our little world really was. Recovery has been long and difficult for him, not just physically, but emotionally too. Losing a broken part of yourself means letting go of the image of perfection you once had of your own body and youth.

Our older children have all had their struggles too. Navigating graduation and entering the workplace is so far removed from what it was for us when we were 23.

And A-level choices, which may not necessarily have been the right ones, weigh heavily when decisions have to be made about whether to continue or let go.

Finishing my forties also comes with reflection. Where did all those years go? It all seems to have happened so quickly.

And as we lose older members of our clan, and in turn become the next holders of wisdom, I wonder whether we truly have what it takes to carry that responsibility.

I recently met a friend I have worked with for over 15 years. She had recently been off work with an injury and is ten years older than me. During her absence, the system she had spent years mastering changed. Her expertise vanished, and her excellence in the workplace became obsolete. Within weeks, she herself became obsolete.

This job had been her entire life. Early mornings, constant communication with staff, total dedication for over 25 years, all invalidated by upgrades in a system.

Over a coffee, she explained that on her return she would either have to spend hours retraining and take direction from a brand-new staff member who had replaced her and taken residence in her office, sat on her chair, drunk coffee from her machine, and rearranged everything to their own taste, relegating my friend’s working life to a box, ready to be collected if she chose to return, or quietly filed away somewhere if she did not.

Her life’s work, in a box.

She hesitated before telling me she would not be returning.

I felt a wave of sadness.

She explained that losing her friend earlier that year, another colleague who died the day before returning at the start of the school year, someone who had been a pillar of our staff and had also dedicated their entire life to work, only to die before ever enjoying the rewards of retirement, had been the wake-up call.

And as the year unfolded, week by week, she knew she would eventually have to leave. The injury merely confirmed what she had already known for months.

I have also known for a long time that my place was never meant to remain trapped in a role that uses only a limited set of skills. I am so much more than a monochrome palette.

I just need others to see it, and that is where it becomes difficult.

The world only wants to see the set of colours it currently needs. When you apply for a role, those are the only colours you put forward. But how do you get people to see the ten million different shades you hold within you? How do you explain that your knowledge, expertise, experience, moods, challenges, and life are far more valuable than a simple set of three primary colours?

The time has come to choose wisely.

For myself, but also for those I may inspire. For my own children, and perhaps one day their children too. For all the pupils I have taught, so they understand there is a world beyond one single career, and that lifelong learning has value.

For my extended family too, who have mostly only ever seen the mum, the wife, the daughter.

And for the friends I have met along the way. Those lifelong friendships that have stood the test of time, and those newer ones that have unexpectedly blossomed over the past couple of years.

And of course, for my Uni Girls, and my tutors too, who have seen a version of me that I had almost forgotten existed.

Better tidy those notes and start reading for next year…