I did a creative writing course recently and we were tasked with writing a self portrait. Our inspiration was the work of a seventeenth century courtier, soldier and essayist called Le Duc de la Rochefoucauld. I’d never heard of him but his famous book of Maximes is premised by his own “portrait par lui meme.”
Here’s my attempt.
Me
In my head, I’m of average height with brown curly hair. Others would describe me as small and blond. When I say “would describe me” it would be more accurate to say “describe me”. I don’t know where they get this from – look, I’m a brunette. I would hope they also add that I’m kind and fun.
My curly hair is my defining feature. I used to hate it. When I was little, I’d have given anything to have straight, blond locks. My mum used to brush through my hair as she thought that brushing hair was just something you had to do. Curly hair does not respond well to brushing. It becomes frizz. Frizz is unsightly. It made me look like Crystal Tips from Crystal Tips & Alastair.
Sometimes, she’d brush it then twist it round her finger to create ringlets. Better than frizz I guess but not exactly stylish in the 1970s. The boy who sat behind me at school used to poke his ruler up my ringlets. Goodness, how awful does that sound! When they were feeling cruel, as kids are won’t to do, my classmates would call me “Hair Bear Bunch” (I recognise you need to be au fait with 1970s children’s TV programmes to understand this.)
My life changed when Grease came out and everyone else wanted a “perm”; that and some genius inventing hair mousse. I’ve never looked back.
Am I attractive? Passable. I wouldn’t stop traffic but I think I scrub up well, particularly with a bit of makeup. The weird thing is that I look like my late father and he definitely was not what you would call a handsome man. Not on the outside. On the inside, though, he was utterly gorgeous. Flawed but gorgeous. To me, anyway.
But I digress.
I have lines around my jowls and wrinkles on my forehead and eyes. If I pull gently at the skin beneath my ears, I can make the lines go away. I imagine that’s how a facelift would work. And I hear you can get Botox or fillers to deal with the wrinkles. I have zero interest in trying any of these tweaks. It seems, to me, the route to endless unhappiness and I’d much rather be happy.
People are often amazed when I tell them I’m 59 and therefore, assuming all goes well, 60 next year.
“You don’t look it!” they announce, proud to be paying me what they assume to be a wonderful compliment.
I don’t know. It’s not unpleasant I suppose, but the problem – if indeed it is a problem – is that on the inside – my heart, brain, bones, muscles, liver – I really am 59. Which makes me very conscious of my own mortality and gives me a sense of time beginning to run out.
I’m generally a positive, enthusiastic, joyful person, though, and so I channel this feeling to guide my decisions about what to do, where to spend my time, who I want to be with, how to get the absolute most out of what is left of my life.
That’s become my driving ambition now. When I was young, it was all about carving out a career, achieving promotion, earning more than my peers, being the best. Motherhood put a spanner in those works and even though I later built my own business, if I have any ambition now it’s for my children. And not for them to be “the best” but for them to be happy, fulfilled, kind, respected, well liked.
I enjoy spending time with other like-minded women and, from time to time, men. I love nothing more than talking with someone about a book I’ve just read. “Could you recommend a good book ….” Is probably my favourite question.
My friends think I’m smart, sharp and an intelligent business woman. My family think I’m scatty, disorganised and the messiest cook on the planet. I like to think both could be true.
In work, on a team, I think I’d be described as an ideas person. I love to come up with new, creative ways to tackle a problem and find solutions. I think I’m pretty good at selling my idea and getting people on side. I bring people together and create good teams. I’m hopeless, on the other hand, at attention to detail and can easily get bored. I probably focus too much on the task and maybe not enough on how people are feeling. Tend to assume someone else will do that.
Of all my qualities, the one I’d say I’m most proud is that I’m kind. Kindness is something I really value in others. I am also non-judgemental.
I’m not the deepest thinker in the world but I do sometimes wonder why we are here. And recently, the only answer I can come up with is to care for and nourish the people we love. After my father passed away, making sure my mum is OK has become even more important to me.
I love writing. In 2018, I published a non-fiction book – She’s Back: Your Guide to Returning to Work. The best advice I received (from my co-author Deb) was to “Write the way you speak”. One reviewer wrote “I felt like I was sitting down having a conversation with a good friend.” I’ve continued to stick with that advice.
Before Covid hit, I used to write a weekly newsletter to the team of five in my business, the Reignite Academy, called “That Was the Week That …”. It was a jolly ditty to keep everyone’s spirits up, touching on the highs, lows and idiocies of the week. In lockdown, I thought the business would collapse and with no-one to write to I decided to write into the ether. I set up a LinkedIn newsletter and every Sunday sat down to write to whoever wanted to read.
I now have 10,000 subscribers, one of whom very kindly described my outpourings as “Witty, warm and wise.” I may have that on my tombstone.
I feel as though I am now entering a new chapter and want to turn my hand to fiction. My early attempts were not encouraging. Every character I made up was a version of myself or a very good friend. Not exactly creative and pretty much guaranteed to alienate people.
Taking a short, online creative writing course taught me exactly how much I have to learn (an enormous amount) and I hope that I’m starting to improve. My ambition now is to write a novel. And, hopefully, to have it published and read, of course.
Over and above that, though, it sometimes feels to me as though bringing up my two children is the most important purpose of my life right now. Although as they are now adults, most of the work is probably done on that one. So it’s back to the creative writing idea. Wish me luck.