I’ve been writing on and off for The Irish Times for nearly 10 years. I don’t “practise gratitude” because, like assertiveness, that’s for Americans. But thank you; even if you read me just to comment “this is rubbish” under the articles on social media (I appreciate you CoRkBoI_69).
Here are the valuable life lessons I’ve learned in that time.
Grieving is full-time work
The best and worst writing job I was ever offered was to write my nephew’s eulogy. It was an awful honour, to be asked by my brother to tell the world one final time who his son was and what he meant to us all, before he put his baby into the ground in the smallest coffin I have ever seen and ever hope to see.
How do you write a eulogy about a child who only had five short years alive? It turns out it’s at the kitchen table with your sister-in-law while she decides what finger food to serve at the wake; because even on the worst days of her life, she will continue to marvel you with her ability to think of others. When someone dies, there’s the comfort that they lived a good life. When a child dies you have an all-consuming rage. It is unfair. Nothing matters any more. How can you go back to work, watch sports and talk to friends about their renovations when we live in a world where innocent children die for no reason at all? You don’t sometimes. You cannot hurry grief, you have to let it have its way with you. There is no way over or under – just through it. You can do all the journaling, the breathwork, the ice baths you want. But grief will not be hurried.
Mind your friends going through it, they will always remember the people who did even the smallest kind thing during their time in the emotional hole of sadness.
As my dear friend once told me: always start a new job with all four grandparents alive
You never know when Ireland will have a World Cup play-off on the other side of the world and you have to “pull a Stephen Ireland” on it, as one Irish fan on their way to Prague admitted to RTÉ this week. If anyone recognises him at his Melbourne job, no you didn’t.
You will work every day of your life if you have a job you love
Sometimes even harder, because your sense of self will be tied to a “calling”. You have to accept your keenness will be taken advantage of, especially in the early years. Make sure you eventually get comfortable saying “no”, “that’s not enough money” and “that’s too much work”.
If you are a woman, have a disability, are LGBTQI+ or have a culturally diverse or working-class background, people may try to make you feel like you should just be happy they gave you a chance. If someone accuses you of having a chip on your shoulder, it’s because they’re uncomfortable acknowledging they had a head start.
Everyone wants to believe they earned everything through hard work. This is almost never true. We are all combinations of opportunity, timing, genetics, some choice and sheer dumb luck. While that might be depressing, it also means you are never really more than one good year of things going your way from getting what you want. It’s the hope that kills you, but it also keeps you from giving up.
Your body will give out before your brain if you keep ignoring it
I really thought I could just push through. Grit my teeth and “mind over matter” my way into success. Through no sleep, witnessing traumatic events, 50-hour work weeks and dinners scavenged from vending machines because I didn’t have time to leave my desk. Of course it all came back to bite me in the arse so badly I can’t sit down without a humiliating cushion. So mind yourself, no one else is going to.
This is my last column for The Irish Times. We’ve taken a ride together, from the Rose of Tralee contestant with spidery eyelash extensions to the tired but satisfied bog hag I’m proudly becoming now, and you’ve been great company. Thank you for your letters, your emails, your cards and your DMs. They meant more to me than you’ll ever know. Right, I’ll let you go now … bye, bye, bye.