Big Little Worlds
The Slow(ish) Diaries - In which I reflect on what makes a big life.
About 9 years ago I went to visit some pals in Australia. We went to stay with a friend of a friend’s family for a couple of nights in a small town in the Snowy Mountains. One of the sons was an professional skiier and the whole family were like local celebrities. Everywhere we went, the townspeople would stop and chat to them, and the mum’s phone never stopped ringing with people needing her input on things.
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About 11 years ago, at my school Christmas party, the year 1 teacher had asked her class a set of questions for us to guess their answers in the style of Family Fortunes. One of the questions was “Who is the most famous person in the world?” Do you know who the most popular answer was, with almost the whole class choosing this person? Our headteacher, Mr. Trow.
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As a celebrant, it’s one of my biggest privileges to write eulogies. I have never met any of the people I’ve written about, bar one. The people I’ve written about have been posties, milkmen, office workers, housewives. The majority of them have lived and worked in the same area their entire lives. And their funerals were attended by many many people; family members who have lost a huge part of their world, community members and friends who were touched by the impact of this wonderful person.
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In recent years, many teachers and teaching assistants are retiring after upwards of 25 years in the same school. Anchored in their school and village/town community, they are part of the fabric of these places. They’re not just leaving behind their presence and their expertise, they’re leaving all those extra jobs they just did without being asked that make the school more than just a place of learning - Nativity costume making, keeping the staffroom stocked with treats, making sure sports day is inclusive and celebratory.
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What is the common thread between these moments? In all of these examples - from an internet algorithm, TV famous, household name perspective - these people’s lives were “unremarkable.” One had a bit of national success perhaps, but the rest would have only made it on TV if they were on a quiz show.
But actually, in real life, in their own communities, in their jobs, in their families, these people were legends. They were/are huge parts of their worlds and their worlds are better for the simple fact of their existence.
In the past I think I’ve fallen into this trap where I believe the only people who can make an impact and have a voice are the people who others follow and worship because they’re at least a little bit famous.
In the business world, success seems to be measured by how far and wide something has reached. Similarly in the social media world, success is measured in followers and engagement on posts.
But what if success could be measured in longevity? In depth?
Surely having 5 loyal customers that would renew your service every year even though there are cheaper offers is infinitely better than 20 new customers that take your introductory offer and leave months later?
Surely it’s better to have 10 followers that regularly comment and respond to your words/art/ideas online, than 1000 followers who barely acknowledge your work?
When I look at the first 10-12 years of my adult life, I was like a dandelion, drifting on the wind. I’d anchor deep into the environment I landed in, make an impact, then was either in the way so dug up again, or I’d simply drift on to the next place. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being that way. In fact I think it was necessary for my own growth and understanding.
But now that I’ve lived in the same place for 5 years, I think I’m ready to set deeper roots. Like an oak tree. I don’t even need to be a particularly remarkable one. Just an oak tree that belongs to a community.
My first school had a mural that said “bloom where you are planted,” and while I’m glad I left that place in particular, those words always stuck with me.
In making my life “smaller” recently, by focusing on my teaching and creating for myself, and not trying to go viral or become well known, my life actually feels a lot bigger. I’m spreading myself less and less thinly and finding the things I do focus on have greater depth and meaning.
I think I’m ready to come out of my temporary pot and plant myself into the ground.
Beth, I couldn't agree more. This sentence stood out in particular: "But actually, in real life, in their own communities, in their jobs, in their families, these people were legends." Yes and yes to this.
A lovely post, Beth. I love the reflections coincidentally I spoke to Sara yesterday! Wish we were nearer 🥲 old friendships are so important.