Why breakfast events are history

I am a mother.  I am a wife.  I am a freelance consultant.  I am actually quite a lot of bloody stuff. Now with a health doo dah thrown in.

As I continue to understand this thing I have, I continue to make strides (in a somewhat haphazard way) to battle against the old expectations of myself and to carve out the new me.  Whatever that is.  This week was another one of those weeks where I continued to make progress in rewriting my book of life…specifically my work life.

It was another one of those ‘old expectations’ weeks.  The ‘old chestnut’ that pops up a lot.

I got invited to a breakfast event in the city by a dear friend.  Enticed by the opportunity to business mingle and thinking it a good opportunity to test out how bod would handle it, I accepted.  You would think after the number of tests I have tried on myself I should have known better….  humour me, here’s what happened…

First came the drive, a long one at an ungodly hour was the prospect so I changed that into an overnight trip instead to see another friend.  Seeing my other friend was lovely but my sleep was shite.  It was like those typical sleeps you have when you’re on an overnighter with work and know you have to get up early – a half in/half out kind of sleep.  Except these days if I don’t sleep well it really doesn’t bode well.  I woke at 6am not feeling the brightest.

Then I had to dress appropriately.  Out came the smart trousers/top (with the compression garments underneath) and on went the ballet flats.  No runners for me this morning.

Next came the 30 minute drive in, the parking and the hurried walk in the rain to find the venue at 7.30am – joints aching from skipping over puddles, snaking my way back and forth, up and down stairs to find doors to the venue that were open (and not closed) at ridiculous o’clock.  Grumpy bum arrives in one piece.

It was a slightly different format to what I’m used to for a breakfast event.  A standing mingle with finger food first.

So no seated breakfast at this one then?

Strike me down now!

The bulk of the session was geared towards a guest presentation with a working session after.

Whaaat? Work? At this time of the morning?

Oh dear.

Right, better make the best of it then.

Since standing is no longer my thing, I sat on a low stool at the mingle not mingling, feeling like a misfit trying not to look too conspicuous or unsociable.   My gorgeous friend got me some food, we chatted some.  It was really good to see her though, I might add, she was in attendance at this thing because it’s her job but she wasn’t in well shape herself (hmm).  The best part of the brekkie was seeing her and giving her some advice about who to see next for something that her doctors haven’t yet got to the bottom of.   A case of deja vu but with the shoe on the other foot.

I was supposed to write some pre-session thoughts on a card but between grappling that, a pencil, my plate of food, my overfilled handbag and a brain that was clearly not in gear I discreetly popped the unwritten card and pencil back on the table.  Rebel.  It was feeling a bit too hard.

I listened to the presentation which was pretty interesting and then I did my best to join in the facilitated session where we had to do stuff.  But it was just too hard.  Hard to get enthused.  Hard to feel comfortable.  Hard to feel like I was in the right place.  Really, it felt like everyone was trying too hard.  It should not be that hard.  Were we all faking it? Maybe. I was.

I carried on like a trouper until the end, said my goodbyes and chuffed off pdq.   As soon as I got in my car, I stripped.  Off came the clobber, on went the comfies.  More rebel.  Now I felt more me.

I paid the ridiculous parking fee which I stupidly thought would be on early bird (only, it turns out, if I exited after 3pm) and drove home, wondering what on earth that was all about?  What was I doing????  What was everybody doing???

Whether I knew it or not prior to that morning, I have changed.

Apart from this body needing ‘different’ to be accommodated, my mind appears finally now to be following suit.  Ungodly-hour events are just too much of a physical and mental repulsion.  I don’t fit them anymore.

Why do we do these things? Jam breakfasts in to an already busy day (good pun).  They’re put in so everyone can still work their day aren’t they?  To fit more in.  To work before work.  Really people? What are we doing to ourselves? Perpetuating the myth that somehow all this busy is a good thing.  Gee I’ve been busy today it was gggrreat!  How many of you come home totally zonked after a day like that?  I know I did.  I was still getting over it three days later – plagued with one of my persistent headaches.

So, decision made, that’s the last morning mingle for me.  Who am I trying to kid.  Another thing off the list of doing.  No more early bird stuff for me.  This doing list is getting shorter.  It’s good.

The ‘go getter’ is steadily being replaced by someone who goes at her own pace, in her own way, doing stuff that suits her body so much better.

A calmer and more authentic place to be.  And getting more zzzzz.

The 'go getter' is steadily being replaced by someone who goes at her own pace. Click To Tweet

I don’t yet know what my new definition is, I’m still working on it.  I do know that I am thankful I have some space in my life to experiment to find out what it might be and to rewrite that next chapter.

It could have all been a bit boring and predictable really.  Thank you body for showing me it’s going to be anything but.


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