Who am I …

I have absolutely no idea

We are always perfectly behaved…. NOT. Mildred on the right, Humphrey on the left

Who am I? A question I have asked myself a lot over the years, particularly over the last four. It is one I had a lot of time to ponder over during lockdown, the ultimate opportunity for navel gazing. Unfortunately, both Mildred and Humphrey, pictured above, were completely useless at helping me to reach the answer. Mildred was only interested in her stomach and Humphrey where his ball was hiding.

As you can see I could describe myself as the eccentric dog woman of the village, but that is just one part of who I am. I wouldn’t complain at all about that description. The dogs provided me with an anchor during uncertain times. I’ll admit they maybe slightly wilful and a handful. Mildred definitely likes the sound of her own voice and is known as the village tart, she’s anyone’s for a tummy tickle. The wuss, Humphrey, may not use his bark often but when he does it is very deep and gruff, and shocks people walking past the front window. That’s unless it’s his hero the postman, he then emits a high pitched squeak of excitement. He is totally ball obsessed you could waft a raw steak in front of him if is waiting for his ball to be thrown, with no response. Nevertheless, they never judge me, only if their food is late nor do they give two hoots/barks who I am.

On a more serious note identity is an incredibly slippery beast that’s changing and shifting all the time, for all of us. Five years ago I was a wife, mother and a busy social housing policy consultant, three powerful identities. Now I am an old retired widow, mother and eccentric dog woman. My new identities are no less valid than my previous ones, no less important, but very different. I often feel I need to hide who I was and who I am now because it is not only me who struggles with them, but others as well. They don’t know how to react to me.

I now live somewhere where no one knew John. Most people did not realise that he only died 9 months before I moved here, it’s not something you broadcast. Sarah only visited me a couple times before lockdown but in her inimitable way made her mark, in a lovely fun way. No one really knows what I did, or even that I did work. I use the switch, as I call it. This is a very useful tool to hide behind, as it is something that brings down a mask, but that mask is also part of me.

Retirement is very strange beast. It dramatically changed who I was, in my eyes any way. It was very abrupt and unplanned for me. There was a part of me that was lost and I believe others view me differently. The question what do you do with your days is often asked. I have no idea how to answer it. I was never asked what I did with my days when I was working, on holiday or other times. It is like you have to keep you days fully occupied, and something I have only just realised isn’t necessary, I can read a book, navel gaze and watch cr@p daytime TV during the week, if that’s what I want to do.

There is much written about the angst of young people trying to find their way in the world and in particular their identities and who they are. But what about us oldies. In 2015, Roll, Charlesworth et al., wrote a piece about older people, struggling with identities and social isolation. They identified that people would avoid social participation due ‘to fears of losing valued aspects of identity’. It is something with which I can relate, I am not a great one for joining groups, but when you retire it is something some people feel you should do. I do actually like my own company because I don’t mind that I can be a boring old f&rt.

Another aspect I have struggled with is that my identities are different from the ones we/I had planned. We would be moving to Cambridge to live in a city, enjoy theatre etc on our doorstep. I would still be working and only now planning to retire.

I could get stuck into existential philosophy such as Satre’s ‘being authentic’ and the role of the ‘other’, but I won’t. John would be shocked that I have grappled with it all, he was a fan. I surprised myself by not only studying it all, but enjoying it. Although, I do still get significant brain ache at the mention of Heidegger. This has nothing to do with effects of lying flat on my back, a couple of days ago, in the mud, having being pulled over by cow bag, otherwise known as Mildred. She saw the opportunity for a tummy tickle. Yet another Linney waffling diversion.

There are many questions linked to who I am. For example how do others view me? Am I being very self indulgent in spending time on this? But the one thing that has dropped into my limited little grey cells is that it really, really doesn’t matter who I am. It doesn’t matter what others think of me nor the fact that even family members each see me differently. The main thing is that my core values are the same, I have been formed by life’s experiences I have changed in many ways.

So after all the Linney waffle, and countless ponderings, the conclusion I have come to is, what does it matter, I have changed over the years but, I will always be me.