What I would tell my just-graduated, 22-year-old self

Recently, someone I had only just met asked me what my advice would be for getting through your twenties. As well as making me feel positively antique (yes OK I am over 30 now), it got me thinking – what the hell would I say to 22 year old me to make those years better?

In the conversation I was having, my focus was money (it was a work meeting after all). Take the trip. Take the risk. Get the credit card (sensibly). You will regret what you don’t do. That should be printed in every uni handbook, sent via email to every 20 year old wondering what to do next because it is the truest thing anyone will ever say. I have so many regrets, and almost every one is what I didn’t do.

So what would I say? I choose 22 because that was when I graduated from uni, spat out into the world with First Class Honours and barely a penny to my name, a freshly broken heart and zero plans other than ‘find internship’ since that seemed to be what everyone else was plotting. But if I could talk now to that anxious, lost 22 year old? This is what I’d say…

  1. Learn to be brave. Confidence and courage are things I’ve never had but perhaps if I’d started trying to find them earlier I’d be in a different place by now. You got a First! You live in London! You survived a flat share that almost broke you! You’ve got this.
  2. Get over it faster. It’ll take time, sure, but don’t let one person determine the rest of your twenties. Now’s the time to meet all those people you didn’t while you were at uni. Go on dates, the bad ones make great stories if nothing else.
  3. Talk to the doctor and don’t take no for an answer. You don’t have to live with constant worry. You do need to worry about that thing they’re brushing off as nothing. Just keep asking.
  4. You’re going to be poor for a while. No one can live on £10 a day (thanks, online internship), even if in 9 years you won’t believe how cheap your rent used to be (message from the future – it’s now almost double, soz). But once you’re not quite so poor, start saving. Everyone else is. Whether you spend it on the flat you desperately want or that trip to NYC one day, just save. And then once you can afford your rent and food? Get a credit card and use it – carefully – to do all those things that everyone else seems to magically be able to afford.
  5. See your family as much as you can. Open up to them. Spend real time with them. Appreciate them. Visit nan and grandad. Call your uncle every week. Be interested and listen. Realise that listening is so much more important than talking.
  6. Don’t watch Lost, at all, it is a proper waste of time. Damages, however, is excellent.
  7. The close friends you’ve always wanted are about to spring into your life. Don’t panic about the people who don’t make time for you anymore; everyone you need is right there in front of you.
  8. Do more. Learn Spanish. Play the piano. Read everything you can lay your hands on. Go to that weird fitness class. Drink tequila. Stay over at a friend’s even though you feel like the most awkward person to ever live. Visit that friend in Argentina (with that credit card I mentioned). You can make more money but you can never make more time.
  9. Know your worth at work. There are going to be bosses who tell you you’re nothing (yeah, to your face), who want to make you look and feel small, but that’s not about you. The one thing you’ve always been confident on is that when it comes to work, you do your best. Keep doing your best. It’s better to be good than to be popular.
  10. Twitter is going to change your life. Embrace it, but for god’s sake don’t write in text-speak. That shit will come back to haunt you via something called Timehop.
Image via GIPHY
Advertisements

Looking in, or looking out?

Pic: Someecards

A mere few years ago, struggling with anxiety, I read every self-help article going. And, while I can’t remember the details of each and every one, there was a common theme. Look outward, they said. You’ll feel better if you stop over analysing yourself, overthinking everything, and simply look out at what’s around you. Friends, mentors, helping others, travelling, seeing what the world has to offer. There was an overriding theme of self-help: stop being so damn self obsessed and look at the bigger picture.

It’s struck me recently that our culture has moved in the opposite direction. We’re now selfie obsessed instead, constantly looking at ourselves, critiquing ourselves, adding filters to our faces before allowing anyone to see us; health retreats that tell you to look inwards; improving one’s self is about looks, followers, your brand, being strong not skinny, eating the right foods and filming every step you take, being at the latest ‘cool’ place and photographing it in the right way. Turn 30 and you’ll have endless people and articles telling you that this is the decade of being wonderfully selfish, of taking control, of doing what you want and to hell with any kind of people pleasing. While the latter is liberating, and I’ve definitely noticed a difference since turning the big 3-0, I’m not sure it can be so healthy to live in this ‘it’s all about me’ way.

Don’t get me wrong; I know we have to get to know ourselves, and to move with the times, and I probably sound older than my years already in mourning the past, pre-Instagram Stories and Snap-bloody-everything. But I’d bet money on the rise of this kind of self-promoting, self-obsessing culture being linked to the rise of anxiety and other mental health issues. Though I thought it sounded terribly hippyish at the time, I think those mags and books telling me to look ‘out’ were much more on the money.

If anything, it’s about distraction. Of course being overwhelmed is never good for anxiety and doing too much definitely triggers mine, but having regular plans, pushing myself to stop fretting and get out and do something, to distract myself from the detrimental thoughts that run constantly through my head, is what really helps me feel better. Having an interest in travel, reigniting my love of being creative be it with a piece of charcoal or an iPhone and a great view, listening to new music and learning things I’d never pay attention to before are the things that make me feel smarter, inspired, interested and interesting.

The more I look in, the less I like; the more I find to hate, criticise, obsess over, compare to others. Sure, that’s an issue in itself, but I’ve always believed being up yourself is a terrible trait and I’m not sure constantly looking at yourself is any better for you. In some ways I’m a hypocrite; having a personal blog like this one is probably the equivalent of self analysing, talking about myself or overthinking, only on screen – but I only post when I feel the need or feel it might resonate. In fact, recently, I’ve found it much more rewarding to write for myself, keeping unpublished posts in my precious Evernote app, purely for the joy of writing and getting the words out rather than to seek approval from readers (something which will often leave me feeling anxious, and yep, you guessed it, criticising myself again if the numbers are low).

I’m not slating those who do all the above – I’m part of that scene thanks to the career I’ve chosen – but it feels like the current trend is to be narcissistic, dressed up as self-development. I don’t think it’s going to change for a while, particularly as social media and blogging continues to grow and develop – but already it does feel like the tide may be turning when it comes to self-care. The sudden popularity of all things hygge, the move to video rather than images, or instant photos rather than ones that have been filtered and doctored beyond belief on social media – I think they’re a subtle reaction to the pressure to be a perfect person who has it all, and a step in the right direction for loosening the grip a little, looking up, and looking out. Here’s hoping, anyway.

Happy 10th birthday, Twitter

TwitterHappy birthday, Twitter. Today you turn 10 years old, and yet in even fewer years than that you have pretty much changed my life.

I joined in January 2009, my then boss telling me ‘it’s the new PR’ and having me take over our company handles while building my own.

From the moment I joined I found support from every which way; from the beauty bloggers who welcomed me with open arms and the women who’d reply at 3am when I was having an anxiety attack to the other writers, singletons and friends who’d respond quicker to random questions or thoughts than if I were to text a close friend. After a tough breakup, I even found the fun in talking to guys again, hidden behind my keyboard and getting excited every time I heard that Tweetdeck alert, dating someone who got to know me very quickly thanks to those 140 character posts. I met women who became my best friends, whose weddings I’ve been to, whose babies I’ve held, who I holiday with, who I couldn’t imagine not knowing now, seven years on, where one lives with another of my friends and another, the most generous person I’ve ever had the luck to meet, makes me laugh daily no matter what struggles we are both dealing with. I’ve met so many wonderful people through it that I’ve lost count.

I’ve made connections with people I came to cherish who I’ve then lost to the cruelty of depression, who I miss dearly even though we never met. I’ve found colleagues, from incredible interns and writers who came to help me in the midst of startup madness (and later became mentors and friends) to the team I’m in today, in a job I was offered after I loved the site so much I followed everyone that worked on it on Twitter just to be inspired, if nothing else.

I’ve shared my biggest moments with those few thousand people who inexplicably follow me, from losing my grandparents to gaining a nephew, winning awards to finding out my mum had the all clear from cancer. I’ve spoken with experts and editors in the beauty industry who, without Twitter, wouldn’t even know who I was let alone reply to my mini message of how much I loved their work. I have cried with laughter at the #whowillspeakforEngland hashtag and felt like part of a community when chatting along to #XFactor (the main thing I’ll miss when the show goes is the tweets). I’ve followed feminists who motivate me and learned the true horror of #everydaysexism, and watched the news unfold second by second during riots, terrorism attacks and when the story breaks of a childhood hero passing away. I honestly think my followers probably know me better than some of my closest real life friends; they read my thoughts, frustrations and comments in real time, with no filter or agenda – and I feel like I know them, even if we’ve never met and they perhaps don’t even follow me back.

It’s the first place I go for information, inspiration and conversation. The kindness of other tweeters is something you can’t even find on the likes of Facebook, where you’re friends with your real life friends. I have, if I can bring myself to use this hideous millennial word, found my ‘tribe’, and I’ll never forget nor stop talking to those early follows and followers who taught me so much and helped me find my way; but I’ll also continue to find new people, a new follow there and another follower here, because the tribe is ever growing. You just never know who you might chat to next, and for a shy girl from a tiny village like me that’s an exciting prospect. It might be their 10th birthday today, but Twitter for me is like one big, never-ending party, full of the most interesting people you’ll ever meet or talk to, whether it’s just in passing or as the start of a great friendship.

So here’s to the teenage years of Twitter – I can’t wait to see what happens next.