You don't have to be the best (Part II)

Before anyone panics, I'm (moderately) certain that this is only going to be a two-part series. This episode is about my lovely boy, and my attempts to manage his hopes and expectations so that he doesn't follow the same contorted mental path that I have, and accepts that doing things for fun is OK, being average at things is OK, and enjoying his life is more important than winning. Nothing like setting myself a nice easy goal.

There have been Things Afoot in the life of LittleBear this year that I haven't written about here, partly for fear of jinxing things, and partly for fear of turning into one of those parents who casually drops into conversation how Tarquin passed his grade 8 Euphonium exams when he was seven*.

As assiduous readers will have noticed, LittleBear loves football. He plays football at every opportunity, he watches football at every opportunity, he can remember (in mind-numbingly tedious detail) the events of matches lost in the mists of time to normal mortals. So, in the brief, golden window of less-lockdown during the summer holidays, he attended a football summer club for a week. And at the end of the week, not only did he receive a trophy for being "Player of the Week", we also received an email telling us that he'd been identified as having "strong attributes" and would be invited for a five week trial with the Norwich City FC regional development program.

And thus followed five very cold, very wet, very windy Friday evenings spent in the middle of the fens, watching my gorgeous little boy training with a group of very talented other little boys (including, fantastically, two of his team mates from our team). I loved the experience of being able to just watch him train and play, and not being responsible for eleven little boys' boot laces and bumped heads, and social distancing, not to mention actually trying to keep them focussed on the training exercise in progress. And I loved watching a really, really good coach at work. It was genuinely inspirational to see how he kept the boys attention, kept them working hard, didn't suffer any nonsense, and yet still allowed them enough of a free rein that they were having fun and laughing.

But, enough about me, back to LittleBear. After a nervous wait, during which it turned out Norwich City FC mis-typed my email address and therefore didn't send us the all-important invitation, my little boy has been asked to join their Player Development Centre. I am absolutely over the moon for him, but it has now opened a huge can of worms for us. Because football clubs are ruthless. They have no loyalty, they have only the desire to be the best and coach the best. And year on year, they assess who "the best" are, from their existing children and any others they scout, and they "let go" the ones who don't make the cut. Some day, LittleBear will be "let go". It could be after one year, two years, five years or ten. But it will happen, and we need to prepare him for that, and for the fact that it doesn't matter. Because he isn't Lionel Messi, and he never will be, but that's OK. He doesn't have to be the best, he just needs to be himself, and he can love football and play football and have a brilliant time no matter what level he reaches.

Which is how we generated our Football Hierarchy - people who live, breathe and love football, but have stopped at different steps along the playing scale:

Coach A: plays grassroots football, coaches grassroots football, loves the game passionately but never played anywhere above grassroots.

Coach W: coaches grassroots football and in his younger days played for a non-league side. Genuinely talented, loves the game but never came close to a professional career in it.

Junior Brown: plays for Scunthorpe, has had a successful but not stellar career pootling up and down the lower reaches of the English league system. Outside the clubs he's played for, has anyone heard of him?

PE teacher: former professional footballer for a second-tier club, former football manager, now LittleBear's PE teacher. A man who made a career out of football at a fairly high level, but probably hasn't been heard of by most of the country.

James Tarkowski: a stalwart of the Burnley Premiership team, with two international caps to his name, but still hardly a household name.

Marcus Rashford: Man United superstar, England superstar, champion of children, and man everyone (in the UK) has heard of.

Lionel Messi: there's only one Lionel Messi.

Each one of them reached a point where they knew they were not going to be Lionel Messi (except Lionel Messi, don't be pedantic). But each one of them kept playing, kept enjoying the game. Each one of them will have been "let go" at some point in their playing life, and each one of them will have carried on anyway, playing and training and enjoying the game without being Lionel Messi. The end of one path isn't the end of everything. And for every player who reached even the modest heights of Scunthorpe United, a thousand children didn't. And most of those thousands of children who love football will never rise above the lowest rung in our Football Hierarchy, but they will still play football and love it.

So this is the conversation we've been having with LittleBear, and he has helped craft the Football Hierarchy, in an attempt to make sure he sees and feels and knows the value of playing football just for fun. An attempt to help him see the huge numbers of people who play and love football without it being a career. And while it's brilliant to have been invited to join a big club's youth development scheme, at some point that will end, and it won't be a reflection on him, and it won't change how much we love him or how proud we are of him. And nobody becomes Lionel Messi.

Meanwhile, I'm still super happy for my little Claret and Blue Canary**.

Someone at NCFC will probably be quite cross about this

* Note: LittleBear's name is not Tarquin, and he does not play the Euphonium.

** For those who don't pay eagle-eyed attention to English football, The Bear family's beloved Burnley play in claret and blue, while Norwich City FC are nicknamed the Canaries, with said bird on their crest.

You don't have to be the best (Part I)

About a week ago, while meandering aimlessly through posts on Facebook, I stumbled across a Kurt Vonnegut quote that a friend had posted, and it really hit a chord with me. (I often find myself mildly exasperated by "inspirational" quotes on the internet, and positively filled with rage at some of the utter tripe that's ascribed to Winnie-the-Pooh but which was absolutely not crafted by A A Milne. I'm assuming they're Disney quotes, or just random bollocks that someone on the internet made up, but I find them irksome.)

Anyway, back to Vonnegut. I was so taken with this particular piece that I even spent some time hunting around for references to it, to try and be as certain as possible that it wasn't a Winnie-the-Pooh-ism. And I was pretty satisfied that it was the real thing.  And the thing is, I have been going back to it several times a day, reading and re-reading it. Marvelling at what a radically different world view it presents to me, and wishing, perhaps, that I had had this particular epiphany several decades ago.

“When I was 15, I spent a month working on an archeological dig. I was talking to one of the archeologists one day during our lunch break and he asked those kinds of “getting to know you” questions you ask young people: Do you play sports? What’s your favorite subject? And I told him, no I don’t play any sports. I do theater, I’m in choir, I play the violin and piano, I used to take art classes. And he went WOW. That’s amazing! And I said, “Oh no, but I’m not any good at ANY of them.” 

 

And he said something then that I will never forget and which absolutely blew my mind because no one had ever said anything like it to me before: “I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills, and that all teaches you things and makes you an interesting person, no matter how well you do them.”

 

And that honestly changed my life. Because I went from a failure, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment, so inundated with the myth of Talent, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could “Win” at them.”

 - Kurt Vonnegut

Pretty* obvious isn't it? It's great to do things just for fun, because you like them, because they make you smile, just because. You don't have to be the best, you don't have to "win", you just have to do it and you'll be a richer, more rounded, more interesting person. But that's not really me. While I certainly can't lay claim to the level of talent that Mr Vonnegut has, I can definitely relate to the "achievement-oriented environment". I need to be good at everything I do, I need to excel, I need to prove myself. And it's absolutely exhausting. Not to mention the fact that there are lots of things I don't do, because I'm a bit rubbish at them. Or maybe just average. I avoid huge swathes of life's opportunities for fear of failing, or of not being the best at it. 

In a moment of synchronicity, today I found my original diagnosis of anxiety and depression and the accompanying recommendations made by the psychologist to my GP. Illuminating excerpts include:

"PhysicsBear worries that she is not good enough, despite the evidence going against this, and engages in anxious predictions... PhysicsBear has unrelenting standards which are exacerbating her beliefs... she fears that she will get something wrong and as a result of this she oscillates between over-preparing and avoiding..."

And one of the therapy goals that was identified in 2013 was:

"Not to be as concerned that she is failing if she is not perfect."

So really, seven years later, I shouldn't find Kurt Vonnegut's words such a revelation. But here I am anyway, trying to accept that just doing stuff for fun is OK. I don't have to be perfect. I don't have to be better than other people. Me is enough. Doing is enough. 

So if you hear an off-key warble, aimlessly meandering from note to note, not quite holding a tune, it's just me singing. Because I'm crap at it, but it makes me happy. And if it doesn't actually cause anyone physical pain (which may be debatable) then perhaps I should give myself permission just to do one thing really badly, if it makes me happy.

* At this point in my writing, IdiotCat walked across the keyboard and wrote "hjukkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk,55555". Tempting though it was to leave his words for posterity, I felt it detracted from the readability.

Age is just a number

But sometimes it seems like a dauntingly big number.

Take 9 for example.

My little baby is 9 years old today. Half way to being allowed to vote. Potentially half way to moving away from home.

It's a terrifying thought, especially as I look around and see my cousins' children attending university, setting off on gap years, launching themselves into their adult lives when it barely seems moments ago that they too were round-cheeked little moppets, earnestly explaining their imaginary worlds to me.

A month ago we knew what we were doing for LittleBear's birthday - today would have been a football match against the toughest team in his league, and tomorrow would have been a friendly football match arranged amongst players only from our own club as a substitute for a party. Parties were banned in covid-land, but football matches weren't, and since there's nothing a Bear loves more than playing football with his friends, I was making use of one of the only perks of being a football coach and arranging a match for him.

But here we are, back under lockdown, where not only parties are verboten, but so are football matches. Unless you're being paid millions of pounds and then you can still play football, because covid recognises pay cheques.

It was not, therefore, quite the birthday he had dreamed of, or we had planned, but (I hope) it was still a fun one. And what was perhaps most striking was just how many good friends my little boy has. Friends who walked, drove, or cycled round to our house in the pouring rain to deliver cards or presents. Friends who called by video, or sent emails. Even a friend who came out and played football in the park in the rain*. I think, and slightly hope, that LittleBear takes it all in his stride that he has such good friends rather than being surprised by it. But I was genuinely touched by the consideration, kindness and love from his friends and their parents that helped make his birthday a day filled with surprises and happiness.

There are many things in the world that are dark and miserable at the moment, including today's weather. And yet today was filled with all that was good about the people in the small corner of the world we occupy. And cake.

A successful birthday present

* LittleBear and LittleFriend will never let rain come between them and football. And to keep within the covid-rules, they met up on their own as "two individuals from different household exercising together" while I ran and walked round and round the park. In the rain.

Number crunching

£12 billion on a woefully shambolic, utterly ineffective, track and trace system, when the one thing most of the scientific/medical community were agreed upon in March was that Track, Trace and Isolate was going to be key to stopping, or at least slowing, the spread of the virus.

£12 billion.

It's a tricky number to get your head round. Just another huge figure, lost among many other huge figures of government spending. So let's have a go...

£12 billion is more than the entire annual budget for England's GP services.

£12 billion is at least 50% more than the entire annual budget for the Ministry of Justice. 

£12 billion is the combined annual budget of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO), Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) and the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA) (2018-19 figures).

So, it would seem that one could potentially do quite a lot with £12 billion. Which makes it all the more impressive that we* have managed to implement a system that only contacts at best 80% of those who test positive, and only reaches 60% of their contacts.

Just for fun, I wondered what else we could have done with those sums of money.

There are approximately 43 million people of working age (16-64) in this country. 

If we employed 1 in every 1000 people as contact tracers, on a full-time salary of £20,000 per annum, that would still only cost £860 million. But they'd need computers, phone-lines and internet connections, so let's give them a budget for equipment and services of another £3000 each, which would take us almost to a whole billion pounds. Employing 0.1% of the working population, and equipping them, is still less than 10% of the sum the government has spent**. Given our current rates are 23,000 positive tests per day, each of our 43,000 newly-employed contact tracers would average approximately one person with a positive test every two days. They could spend a lot of quality time supporting that covid-infected person, meticulously noting their movements, and following up their contacts.

Let's not forget the development of the "world-beating" Track and Trace App either though. I mean, it must be expensive to develop a new App mustn't it? Let's just pause and consider the most expensive computer games ever made. BioWare spent the equivalent of $227 million developing Star Wars: The Old Republic. Or £175 million. And, married as I am to a Bear in the computer games industry, I can assure you that big computer games are really quite complicated. But even assuming that developing a phone App that hardly works is as difficult as a Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game, it's still a drop in the £12 billion ocean.

So, even after employing 0.1% of the country as contact-tracers, and developing an App to rival the world's most expensive PC game, we've still got a little less than £11 billion left to spend on more lab technicians, or reagents, or test kits, or courier services, or databases, or statisticians, or doctors, or nurses, or support schemes that allow those isolating to be able to afford to do so. Maybe we could even try feeding some children, or providing enough IT provision that children can receive the level of remote teaching previously reserved only for those who could afford a private education.

But we haven't done any of those things. Makes you wonder where all the money has gone doesn't it?

* It genuinely sticks in my throat to use "we" in that sentence, as though most of that "we" have had anything to do with this obscene waste of taxpayer's money. The Tory government hold all responsibility for this. All of it. 

** Obviously this is a bit of a cheat, as I haven't included employers NI contributions or any of the administrative overheads of employing people, but it gives you an idea of the sums involved.

10-Day Challenge: Day #10

Well, here I am at the end of my 10-day challenge to write short, positive blog posts in an attempt to force myself to see the good in life even in times of stress and distress.

Has it worked?

I wouldn't say I have become entirely upbeat, but I have definitely forced myself to make an effort not to wallow as much as perhaps is normal. There isn't exactly much reading-between-the-lines required for anyone to spot that there have been down days, even in the span of only 10 days. But I have managed to find one bright spot each day, even if that solitary bright spot is cheese. Cheese can be surprisingly therapeutic - as evidenced today by my making a special outing at lunchtime to the only shop within easy range that sells cheese suitable for raclette. By which means I have given myself and LittleBear something to look forward to at the weekend*.

But having molten cheese to look forward to is not my happy thought for the day, it's just a nice coincidence. 

I am not sure whether this technically counts as a happy thought, but it is certainly a moment of self-awareness, and a progression from the foul mood of yesterday. It all starts with a meme that I saw, and (for the second time in the last 5 years) posted on Facebook.

I have the innate ability to imagine situations that haven't even occurred and get fucking furious about them. I basically think myself into a bad mood.

It was true five years ago, and it's true now. I spend far too much time inside my own thoughts, getting myself more and more angry and upset about things that exist only inside my own head. And, aside from the minor impact of every news article I might look at, yesterday was largely down to "thinking myself into a bad mood". With a certain amount of effort; stern internal talking-to; and a clear-eyed look at my lovely husband, son and friends, I managed to talk myself back into a more reasonable frame of mind.

And for me, that's a massive achievement. I feel genuinely proud of myself for getting out of the funk I'd got myself into. And maybe, just maybe, the previous nine days of making an active choice to see the good in life did help.

* It is an enduring mystery to me and LittleBear that BigBear is not a huge fan of raclette. We choose not to question this position too closely, as it simply means more cheese for us.

10-Day Challenge: Day #9

I have been seriously tempted to scrap today's entry. To simply write, "life is shit and I have nothing positive to say." But instead, I'm going to try and be honest about that, and to try and be honest about the struggle to find something, no matter how small, to be happy about. 

I don't want this Challenge to turn into some kind of Pollyanna-ish fa-la-la about life being fully of fluffy kittens and joy, when the very point is that it isn't, but that even when that is the case, it is possible to find something, anything, that might raise a smile, or perhaps provide comfort.

And today, that has been harder than usual. I have been bad-tempered more or less from the moment I awoke until now. I have hated more or less everything. I have had arguments in my head with more or less everyone. I have not been a joyous person, and have almost certainly not provided my LittleBear with a happy half-term Tuesday.

But...

My LittleBear is a dear, sweet, soft bundle of cuddles, and despite my crabbiness, he has been funny, and gentle and entertaining for most* of the day.

And even though life isn't full of fluffy kittens and joy, there is this...

 

And finally, this is the thought I genuinely had as I cooked dinner and wondered what I had to feel upbeat about. I have five types of cheese in the fridge and have eaten three of them today. And, honestly, some days, having plenty of cheese available is the level of positive I can manage.

* He's eight. I may love him dearly, but I'm not so blinkered as to claim that he's been perfect for a whole thirteen hours.

10-Day Challenge: Day #8

Today's moment of good cheer is the extraordinary power of everyday people saying, "enough" in large enough numbers that they make a difference.

You would perhaps have to have been living under a rock not to have noticed there is a certain amount of kerfuffle over the fact that 340 MPs voted against providing free school meals to children living in poverty through this half-term and the Christmas holiday. Apparently, this would be a mere sticking-plaster and therefore unhelpful. I don't know if any of these MPs have ever had a minor, bleeding injury, but there are times when a sticking-plaster is exactly what's needed. In this case, no, it should not be necessary for the government to provide food for children. No, it should not be acceptable that 1.4 million children are in danger of not receiving enough food. No, as a country, we don't want our population to have to need vouchers to provide enough food for their families. And yet. Here we are. Maybe it has something to do with a global pandemic following hot on the heels of 10 years of austerity? 

However, this is supposed to be a positive light shining in the darkness, not a political polemic.

The positive today is just how many cafes, restaurants, charities and individuals have stepped forward to make sure none of the children who need food are going to go without. 

My own village swung rapidly into action, a volunteer group contacted the heads of the three schools (Infant, Junior and Secondary), discovered how much money was required to fund meals for their in-need pupils through half-term, and decided to ask the people of the village to step up. Within 12 hours of bank account details being published, £2,375 of the £3,100 needed had been donated.

Meanwhile, the local bakery is offering no-questions-asked free sandwiches for children's lunches throughout this week. The local branch of the Salvation Army has more food than they can give away and is redirecting it to other areas. They're also running a "Pop-Up Pantry", allowing people who need help to come along and pay only what they can afford, or nothing at all, for essential groceries.

This is not something unique to my village, it is a story being repeated over the length and breadth of the country, as good people refuse to sit back and see others suffer.

These are the people I want to share a country with. These are the people who can stand up and make a difference; who can reshape the future to reflect a kinder, gentler, more humane world than our elected representatives seem to see.

We can make the world a better place.