Having choices. We all want choices, I’d like more colour options when I am sketching without me having to mix some up, I’d like to have more than five options when I am dressing up, and when I am eating out I first need to make a choice on where we’ll be eating at, and then when we get there what we’ll be eating, where I live has been chosen, after a well thought out operation where we reviewed several equally good options.
Yet having options kills me sometimes. I am one of those eternally confused mums who believe in taking all the roads, the ones walked on and the ones overgrown and neglected. My mother on the other hand is a person who’s blessed with foresight and hindsight, which makes it easy for her to decide on things, without wasting time, energy or resources. She says she can do it because she grew up having no choices. So she is really free from the burden. So generally her life view is either a tick or a cross.
It works… for her.
My daughter is born into a world where some choices were already made for her, like pink is for girls… she slipped right into the pink jammys with a Barbie in one hand. She has so many things to choose from that neither me nor my mother, or her mother before her could even imagine. Her universe has perfectly sized tomatoes, beans that are the same length, supermarket aisles assault her pint sized senses with crazy dreams, aspirations and choices. In school five and six years olds like her are already learning about the food pyramid, knowledge is on their side, but sadly apathy isn’t far behind. Because with just as much ease she witnesses food discarded without a thought, third world guilt has long ceased to exist. Having too much of everything just killed it.
But did we always live like this?
Well here’s a page, or a few pages from our life, if you see a message in it, take it, its yours.