…coz you’re there for me tooo-oo-oooo

I moan alot about my lack of friends in Dubai, but it would be a little churlish of me not to mention that I do actually have the odd one or two. I have just enjoyed a fabulous evening with a girlfriend who I met here six years ago as part of a speed friend-ing program set up by my first, very sociable friend in Dubai (codename O). O was a mum, and therefore unlike me had access to a veritable mass of potential friends. She was also way, way more outgoing and friendly than I could ever aspire to being. With that in mind, she and I used to meet for a drink every Wednesday and she would invite unsuspecting school mums to join us for a road test. The rule of thumb was that if we agreed they were still fun after a few glasses of wine, we’d invite them again. Not many made the cut for both of us: rather she ended up with the most amazing social life and I sat on the edges wondering what I could possibly have in common with so many 30-somethings with children. The answer was not a lot, most of the time – as a newly-wed barely out of my 20s they just all seemed terribly grown up and slightly irrelevant. But meeting my friend was a different case, because she, like O, made me feel like I’d found someone to be ‘me’ with. I remember meeting her for the first time, a tall slim blonde waiting on a bench for myself and O outside the Mina A’Salam hotel, looking incredibly stylish and cool. Of course in reality she wasn’t any cooler than me – what she was was a wicked funny Aussie who reminds me more of Bree from Desperate Housewives than anyone else I’ve ever met. The three of us spent a very amusing evening together – and have had many, many more during the relative lifetime we have spent here.

Long term friends in Dubai are hard to come by and harder still to keep hold of as life propels us ever forward. I have been lucky enough to have kept a few close ones for the entire duration of my time here. I don’t see them too often, but like good friends anywhere in the world, I can just pick up where I left off a few months back. Problem is there is always the prospect of them(and maybe one day, me) leaving hanging over our heads, unlike at home. It’s taken me a long, long time to accept that in the expat world, close friends and longevity don’t necessarily go hand in hand. The conclusion I have come to lately, however, is that being an expat is a bit like being single: the longer you go without a long term relationship the more attractive one-night stands start to become. One of the mums from school (because I am now that irrelevant 30-something with kids) and I have recently ‘hooked up’ and get on really well. She is leaving in six months. The old me would have thought ‘what’s the point?’ and not bothered making plans for playdates with the kids or nights out. The new one thinks ‘what the hell’ and I have resolved to simply enjoy her company until she goes.

Another aspect to making friends in an expat community is that you don’t have to know each other very long in order to consider yourself close. A couple who we have known for just over a year recently left Dubai, and we were devastated because we had really enjoyed our time with them and genuinely considered them to be some of our best friends, despite the fact that actually we really don’t know an awful lot about eachother. The shared experience of simply living here plus a shared sense of humour seems to be what counts, and you make good friends in the strangest of circumstances as a result. I met someone at a soft play area about 18 months ago and whilst our kids never play together (in fact they don’t even know each other!) and we don’t have a single thing in common, we really enjoy going out for the occasional glass (read bottle) of wine and having a laugh to ease the day to day grind.

The pressure of course is to be friends, really good friends, with every person you meet. It is a relatively small pool and because you are thrown into it without any form of raft, the instinct is to find as many people as you can and grab onto them with all your might. But now I realise the best way to make friends here is the same as anywhere really – to just let it happen, and like buses, the really good ones will come along when you least expect it. Most will stay long enough to get you from A to B and some will stick around for a longer journey, but long or short-lived, really it’s the companionship along the way that matters. And if you can get to the end and have collected a few that will withstand the long distance friendships they will inevitably become, well then all the better.

Another year over..

And so here we are, suddenly, at the end of another year. Traditionally the time to reflect on what has been, and start fresh with new ambitions, hopes and dreams for the 12months ahead.

My year began on a sad note, with my grandad passing away after a long struggle against dementia. Despite him being gone from us for a lot longer in reality, I miss him very much and find myself thinking about him a lot this past few days. I think he would have immensely enjoyed seeing my son grow from baby to little boy this year.

The first quarter of the year was tough for a number of reasons, and went by in a haze of sleepless nights and a few too many tears. Spring was a recovery period in one sense but found us the victim of numerous illnesses as my son bought one thing after another home from his first term at nursery. My favourite was the noro virus which we managed to bring back to the UK with us and systematically wipe out half the family a week before my sisters wedding. Fortunately we were all better, if a bit thinner, by the big day.

The summer, despite living out of a suitcase for most of it, was the highlight of this year. We had the most amazing time and it really helped to show us what was important in life. We came back from the trip knowing who we were as a family, what we wanted for ourselves, and with a clear vision of how life should progress. Returning to Dubai again in september was tough and it has been hard to accept that we are still not leaving any time soon. But having resolved to make the most of our beautiful autumn weather, I really feel like we did this year. The weeks leading up to now have been a total joy and really such a lot of fun that in actual fact it was hard to drag ourselves away.

Somewhere around the middle of this year I began writing this blog in a bid to release some of the negativity and loneliness I felt around living as an expat, trailing spouse and mother of one. And as I sit on a sofa somewhere north of Boston listening to the chatter of my family all around, I realise the huge emotional and spiritual journey that I feel I began this year will no doubt continue into the next.

2012 holds much promise for me. I feel that I have begun to make peace with myself in a way that I have struggled to up until now. My role as a mother no longer seems to bind me and terrify me in equal parts, but instead I find myself enjoying it and savouring all the special moments that seemed to evade me for so long. And so this forms resolution no.1 on my list, to continue to grow as a parent and be the best mother I can be, without totally stressing myself out about it in the process.

I also feel our summer hiatus from Dubai, and the inevitable but reluctant return have left a deeper mark than usual on me this year. I know now where we are headed, and with an end game in mind I am better able to accept where we are now, and look toward the future with an optimistic and open mind, all the while acknowledging that the here and now is just as important and worthwhile. So to my resolution no. 2: to enjoy the moment, to make the most of where we are, where we live and our lives as they stand. To plan for the future without wishing away the present. To make the most of our time in Dubai because life will not always be this way. To look forward to the future without missing it so much.

I have lost a lot of friends in Dubai this year, from those moving away to those who dropped off the face of the earth, to those who are no longer around because of sad or exceptional circumstances. I’m not sure I will ever truly accept the nature of expat friendship, in that vein of here one day, gone the next- but I am trying my best to appreciate it really is nothing personal and is simply the nature of the beast. So to resolution no.3: to make friendships where they present themselves, to accept the demise of others, cherish the ones that last, and to pick up the phone to home, to someone I trust with my heart and soul, when it all gets too much.

There have been many moments this year I am not proud of. I have struggled to figure out why they came so thick and fast, and why I seem to lack the self control of others when it comes to expressing myself appropriately to my nearest and dearest. But my resolution no.4 is not to dull these feelings and pretend they are not there, rather to find a better way to show them, and to take advice and help when it is offered instead of brushing it away like an unwanted fluff bunny.

Resolution no.5: get tennis lessons. No deeper meaning to that, I just think given some lessons I’d be pretty good at it.

I have other aspirations for myself for the coming year but find them clashing dangerously with my ‘list of things to do before I’m 40’ and given I have a few more years to achieve them I don’t feel I have to commit to them right now. I also have a ‘list of things to do before we leave Dubai’ formulating, which I am keeping separately from either my 2012 resolutions or my 40 list in the vain hope it falls somewhere between the two to accomplish.

So really I guess my 2012 hopes and dreams boil down to a simple wish: to have fun and relax, be good to my family, kind to myself, and when all else fails go out and hit a few balls. Happy new year to you all.

There’s no Christmas like snow Christmas

I’ve tried. And tried. And tried some more. I cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner to get myself kick started. I relented and even though we’re leaving on the 12th December, I put the tree up. I spent the week going out and doing the festive social thing. I wrote my cards. I even wrapped presents and stuck on the Christmas CD while I did it. But it doesn’t matter what I try, I simply can’t get into the Christmas spirit in the middle of the desert while the temperature is still in the 70s and we’re hanging out by the pool.

Sunset, mum's garden, Christmas 2009

My son has Santa coming to visit his school on Thursday, at which I am helping out, quite possibly against my better judgement (there’s only one person guaranteed to make a toddler cry harder than the school photographer, and that’s Santa). At the moment I feel like the Grinch because I just can’t get excited about someone’s Dad getting sweaty in a Santa suit pretending to have come from the North Pole. Let’s face it, if Santa came to Dubai one would assume that he would stick a pair of red shorts on with a (real)fur trim and swap the hat for a pair of designer shades before making various demands to ‘see Dubai’ including a trip to Wild Wadi and a look at the fountains. Topped off with Friday brunch at the Al Qasr in preparation for the 2 billion mince pies and 400,000 glasses of sherry he’s going have to work through in a few weeks.

Christmas in Dubai is a bit of a confusing time in general. Clearly it’s not a local festival but the shops, hotels and schools are full of it. Music, decorations, the works – sometimes you even see evidence of the actual meaning of Christmas rather than it just being ‘Santa Day’. Today I stumbled across a chocolate filled ‘Prayerful Christmas advent calendar’, which aside from being one of the most gross examples of religious/consumerist Christmas cross-breeding I’ve ever seen, filled me with surprise that it was even allowed. Because despite the odd card with a stable on the front, Christmas in Dubai is basically all about Santa. I wonder if it’s the same everywhere else? It’s hard to tell if it’s because Dubai is such a consumerist environment and because it’s a Muslim country or whether it’s the same everywhere. It’s not something I really paid attention to back in the UK, because I didn’t have kids and Christmas to me was a silly hat and spending a night up in town with my mates. But now I find I am a bit sad about the lack of ‘Christmas’ in Christmas, which is even stranger given I’m not a religious person. Maybe I’m getting old, but I kind of feel that if you’re going to celebrate Christmas, you should at least know the story.

One friend posted on FB last week that his son was playing Elton John in his school’s upcoming Christmas show. So maybe the traditional Nativity play is a thing of the past even if you are in the UK. It’s a shame because I would love to one day see my son dressed as a shepherd, or a King, or the Angel Gabriel (he would make a good Gabriel, I feel; Jesus, not so much, it’s a bit-part at best really) and I think it’s a wonderful way to tell a story that might not have meaning to most of the kids or parents but at least helps create some tradition around the whole thing, and particularly for young children, is the one part of Christmas that isn’t about Santa and presents. How can you find any deeper meaning in being Elton bloody John for crying out loud?

But despite what seems to be a widespread post-modern secularisation-gone-mad of Christmas, and another horrendous and rather stressful travel schedule, I am counting down the days until we fly to the UK, because for me that’s when it really starts. It’s cold, and dark, and wet, and everyone is sick and/or miserable, but around the time I arrive that will all magically transform into ‘feeling Christmassy’ and everyone will begin to embrace the idea of winter rather than fighting it. I will get to my mum’s to find a tree that’s twinklier than even Dubai can pull off on it’s best day, the disco ball in the conservatory will be on a slow rotate to make it ‘snow’ (OH YES THEY DO), and let’s not even talk about the motorized angel on the top of the tree that due to an unfortunate hand motion will forever be known as the wanking fairy. Each night I will stare out at the clear, crisp starry sky from the warmth of the house, and wake up to frosty winter fields, unspoilt and beautiful. I will stamp my feet on the station platform to warm them while I wait to travel up to town in my silly hat and celebrate with my friends. Then off to the US and to the snow, to watch my husband and son playing outside and give them hot chocolates to warm them up when they come in. To decorate our new USA Christmas tree that will sit by a fireplace instead of by the patio doors, and start new traditions as we wrap our presents in the warm instead of in air conditioning. To kiss and hug and laugh with friends and family on both sides of the pond. To see my son light up and fall in love with his grandparents all over again. To hold my niece for the first time. This is Christmas.

Don’t worry be happy

Image via Wikipedia

I have to learn to chill the f*** out. I don’t know how to do it but I really need to learn. It’s a skill that has evaded my capture over the years, and whilst demanding perfection from myself and everyone around me at a quite manic level was pseudo-cool in my teens, vaguely endearing in my 20’s and career-shaping in my early 30’s, I’m beginning to think that being stressed out and anally retentive over everything has run it’s course as being the defining factor of ‘me’ and I’d quite like to acquire a new character trait that is less exhausting and doesn’t make me quite so annoying.

I have already thought about what else I could be and came to the conclusion that there aren’t that many good qualities I possess even in small quantities that I can upsize and still come across as genuine. I tried on ‘witty’ for size but essentially it always defaults to ‘sarcastic’. Similarly, ‘organised’ generally ends up as ‘anal’. I have tried being ‘fun’ through the years, because I would like to be fun, and really, I am a whole lot of fun and I love having fun, but for some reason when people are asked to describe me, they don’t use the word ‘fun’. They say ‘slightly scary’. I have always thought this is grossly unfair. I’m not remotely scary really, once you know me. But this affects me, that people describe me this way. Not old friends, because I know they know better and are just taking the piss. Which doesn’t matter, because deep down I am fun and can take it. Ha ha. But people I’ve met more recently, when they say it, that it’s how they felt when they met me, it worries me, and probably explains alot about why I don’t have too many numbers in my phone in Dubai.

I try to be easy going. I try to be non-scary. I’ve even grown my hair because someone told me not so long ago that it was intimidating. But if truth be known, I’m opinionated and honest and argumentative and it’s hard to see past all that to someone that just wants to be loved and cared about and be entertaining and have a laugh.

Worse still now I am a mother, I find myself constantly trying to be all the things to my son that I want to be to everyone else. I want to be the fun mum, the care-free mum, the mum who is loved by all his friends and who he can trust to tell anything to and to be anyone he wants to be. But there is a fear growing inside of me that I won’t be able to do that. That I’ll be too stressed out over something stupid and inconsequential to listen. That I’ll be too grumpy or bad tempered to be approachable. That I will be the mother in law every girl dreads (although there is possibly a lot of fun to be had in that). That my hopes and expectations for him, for me, for us all, will be too high and pile on too much pressure and I will end up alienating him and everyone else around me. Bottom line: I need to find a way to relax and have fun instead of worrying all the time about everything. Because I recognise the more I stress out about stuff, the more stressed I become.

That last paragraph being the perfect example.

Luckily I married the glass half full guy, the Yin to my Yang. I need to learn to listen to him more because despite the fact that my default is to assume he doesn’t know or understand what is going on in my head, he’s actually very acutely aware of the war that wages between the person I could be vs. the person I want to be. He weathers the storm, and my son is too young to judge me as yet – but I recognise that something needs to change before they both get as sick of me as I am.

Maybe coming to Dubai skewed it a little because it changed the game. Maybe motherhood did the same thing all over again. Motherhood inDubai…maybe that makes things harder too, because the pressure here to be a resoundingly middle class, yummy mummy, entrepreneurial free spirit who owns 2 boutiques, is a size 8 and bakes cakes in her spare time is too much to live up to for the average mortal. And then you add in the competitive element of the children themselves. Heaven forbid in Dubai if your toddler isn’t talking/playing tennis/on the swim squad/doing calculus by the time they are three. And that’s down to you as the mother to secure, adding external and environmental pressures to the internal ones already dancing round my head.

But there’s nothing stopping me changing the way I react to all this except myself. As I creep towards 40 I sense that the only person holding me back from doing or being anything is me. And I keep telling myself that being older, more mature, means that I should be more confident of myself and who I am, and what I am capable of. I don’t need ‘scary’ or ‘perfect’ in order to live my life, so why do I put so much pressure on myself? I’m the oldest child so I reckon that plays a part. Recently I have taken to blaming being the youngest in my school year for quite a few life choices, so maybe that has something to do with it too. And I come from a family of worriers and stress-bods so maybe at the end of it all, it’s down to Nature. But I was once taught that human behaviour is the result of 100% Nature and 100% Nurture. It can’t all be hereditary, and even if it is, surely there is room for change? Surely my ability to just relax can be learnt, and my default tendency to stress out be crushed underfoot? So if that’s the case, how can I begin to change?

There’s only one answer.

It’s up to me. I have to nuture myself into a better place one way or another. I have to learn how to forgive myself for not being perfect, and to not sweat the small stuff. I need to give my loved ones time to grow by themselves, and let go of a few things, and realise that no-one has to get it right first time, all of the time. In fact half the fun is getting it wrong. I need to stop filling my life with angst where there is none, and replace it with things I enjoy that will make me fulfilled. When my life is full and busy doing stuff I enjoy, I don’t fret about all the little things, because I don’t have the time or the inclination. Dubai has historically been a difficult place to do this, because it’s easy to get caught up in the hype that being perfect is actually a career of some sort. It isn’t. It’s not even a hobby. And now I’ve figured this out, it makes it easier to think about what not to do in order to worry less and be happy more. I am going to have a go at being imperfect, and try not to be too stressed about getting it right first time.