06-07-2025
The luxury of ambivalence
Wasn't it exciting getting new school shoes when you were a kid? It was the ritual manifestation of growing up, and growing up (for me, at least) was the sum of all ambition. The late August visit to the special shop, being allowed to pull the paper ticket from the machine, the number denoting your place in the queue. The exciting countdown that was broadcast as you waited for your turn, those ahead of you called one by one. The cold metal feeling of the measuring contraption on the sole of your foot, followed by the gentle tightening of the tape over the widest part.
This was followed by the bringing home of the new shoes, proudly wearing them for the first time. The gasps of astonishment from any adults present at how enormous your feet were getting. The only problem was that this moment of excitement and pride was tinged with ambivalence — it meant the holidays were over and it was time to go back to school. The thrill of buying fresh, delicious new stationery also signified the looming and inexorable end of the holidays. In fact, many of the greatest pleasures in life hold this sort of contradiction:
• Loving finishing a book but hating finishing a book.• Not wanting a packet of white chocolate Digestives to end, but still eating them.• The relief of breaking up with some someone who was wrong for you, then immediately missing their friends and family, who were excellent.• Hating that your period has come — but at least you're not pregnant. • Hating throwing up — but at least you're pregnant.• Arriving at your destination after a glorious train journey.• Having dear friends to stay, accompanied by the niggling resentment that you have to clean their sheets and cook for them.• Finally making it into the cool gang at school and realising they're not very nice.• Being delighted to stay at home on the sofa, while also furious at not being invited.• The satisfaction of buying the next size up in nappies for your baby, but then, oh, they're growing.
Swings and roundabouts, eh?
