Bryony Gordon
Why do we always expect the worst from life?
You may have noticed that I’ve spent the last couple of weeks hawking my new book. Book hawking – or book touring, as publishers prefer to call it, as if I were Taylor Swift and not a tubby mum edging 40 – is my favourite thing, because I am unshackled from my desk and allowed out of the house to meet actual real-life people (under supervision, of course).
I can’t tell you how exciting it is for me to be unleashed. Most of the time, I get no further than the school playground or the local swings or, if I’m very lucky, The Daily Telegraph canteen, and, let me tell you, it can get a little wearing. Locked in the kitchen at my laptop, I only see the bad stuff in the world: the miserable but inevitable union of Donald Trump and Kim Kardashian, two people best known for letting their bottoms do the talking; the warnings from the chief of Ofsted that our four- and five-year-olds are dimmer than a low-watt light bulb, despite the fact mine knows her way around an ipad better than I do; the terrifying transformation of Germaine Greer from leading feminist to Aunt Lydia from The Handmaid’s Tale. But when I’m allowed out, I see the whole picture, and suddenly things feel a little better. In fact, I’d even go as far as to say that things feel decidedly upbeat.
Forget trade wars, Brexit and the fact that our homes are about to be invaded by billions of superfleas with penises twice the size of their bodies – because truly, there has never been a better time to be alive. It is a wonderful time to be a human. For those of you worrying that I’ve gone back to the drink (for the record, I haven’t), let me explain. This week, a stranger approached me at a book-signing with a gift. I was initially suspicious, because I don’t tend to get gifts from strangers – just emails telling me I am a disgrace to womankind and that I should put away the diabetes-ridden lump of lard that I like to call a body. (Guys, I don’t have diabetes, but it’s sweet of you to care.)
But this stranger looked smiley and nice, so I accepted her present graciously and complimented her on her gift-wrapping.
Then I got on with signing books for people who were kind and complimentary, warm and welcoming, and full of stories about their own personal athletic triumphs (my book, Eat, Drink, Run, is about becoming an unlikely marathon runner).
Later, at home, I opened the gift. It was a beautiful print saying: “What if it all goes right?” It stopped me in my tracks.
How often do we ask ourselves this? How conditioned are we to expect the worst in life? Why is our default position that everything is going to go wrong? Why are our eyes drawn to the miserable little arguments that take place on tiny screens, instead of out at the real world, where our family and friends are? And would my husband object to me sticking the print to the bedroom ceiling so that it is the first thing we see when we wake (making a nice change from our smartphones)?
On Thursday, I appeared on ITV as part of my book hawking (sorry, touring). In the studios, I encountered eight women with hair loss who were about to go on television for the first time.
When they whipped their wigs off in front of the cameras, it was remarkable to see how happy they looked, as if it was a huge relief to be themselves in all their bald glory, and not have to fit the conventional mould.
As an alopecia sufferer myself, I found this pretty cheering, and I decided to forgo the headscarf I had taken to wearing so as not to disturb anyone with my bald patches. That night, I did another book event and I met: a woman who had left the house for the first time after the death of her son at Christmas; someone who had battled drug addiction and climbed Mount Kenya; a curvy lady who had completed seven marathons (was this a challenge?); two beautiful young women who had met at an AA meeting and helped each other to a year’s sobriety.
People are marvellous. They are magical. I should try looking up from my laptop and getting out more, really.