Every day is a reward

that you want to keep reading about my shenanigans

My last post, the first in a long time, garnered nearly 2,000 views. That’s not to say that I have 2,000 subscribers—I don’t—but nearly 2,000 people either read or started to read my post. This fills me with joy.

It’s easy to have imposter syndrome. We all have it, don’t we? I’ve suffered from it all my life. Everything I do, I feel like someone can and has done it better, or that I only got this job, or this assignment because they’ve made a mistake, or they couldn’t find anyone else.

It’s a crippling affliction. I hate having it. But do you know what? I’m nearly 65 and I'm almost at the point where I think I can and do do things well. I don’t need to be embarrassed about how I write, or paint, or sing, or ride a motorbike, or tell jokes. I’m OK at all of it, some would say very good.

This extends to relationships. My primary relationship is with my wife.

I proposed to Linda after we’d been together for thirty years and already had two lovely children.

Despite the fact we had been together forever (longer than my mother and father remained married) I didn’t have the confidence to ask Linda to marry me, until I did.

I remember it distinctly. I was having lunch with some ex-work colleagues. Linda and my anniversary of when we “started going out” was happening that weekend. One of the crew asked me why we weren’t married. It was a good question, and I didn’t have a good answer.

So, immediately after lunch, I went straight to Village Goldsmith and chose a ring. The ring wasn’t quite right though, so I asked if they could change it—by Saturday!! They said “yes,” and later on Saturday night, at our anniversary celebration, so did Linda.

Five months later, we got married surrounded by 50 of our closest friends and family.

Maybe waiting for thirty years is the ultimate manifestation of imposter syndrome. She’s not going to say yes. She doesn’t really love me.

We’ve been together for 43 years (30 years unmarried and 13 years married) so we both must be doing something right. We’re like yin and yan, salt and pepper, knife and fork. We go together well, but we are completely different. A knife loves being with a fork. The salt complements the pepper perfectly.

We laugh. We cry. Sometimes I play bad cop (not often). Sometimes Linda takes that role.

We mostly enjoy the same things.

We joke about it now, but when we started courting, there was a film festival on. We must have gone to ten movies with subtitles within the week. Linda accuses me of just trying to impress her, because can she get me to go to a subtitled movie now? No-she-cannot! Unless it’s a really good one. See, I can bend a bit. This is the secret to a long and happy relationship.

Where is all this leading to? Sorry, but it’s a tortuous path to an example of how not to start or have a relationship.

We’ve just come back from a holiday in Melbourne and Tasmania. Melbourne was Melbourne, except a little more tired than we remembered it. Tasmania, on the other hand, was stupendously good.

One evening, we were having dinner at the Urban Greek. This restaurant was fabulous. Reservations are recommended. The food was delicious. The wait staff were superb.

We sat near to a couple who I thought looked like they were in their early 50’s. It appeared to be a romantic night out for them, you know, a break from the kids. I thought this because they had splashed out on a bottle of champagne.

An AI image, not representative of the couple, or of Linda and I.

I’m quite deaf, so I have trouble hearing people, especially in noisy, busy environments. Linda, on the other hand, can listen to and take in three conversations at once, in different parts of a room. This is a skill she learnt as a journalist, surely.

So, we’re looking at each other, and Linda whispers to me that she thinks they are on a first date. I asked her why she thinks that.

“Because he just asked her how many sisters she has.”

I try to hear what else they are talking about, but it’s a lost cause. It’s too noisy for me to hear.

Our meal continues. Their’s is nearly wrapping up.

I sneak a furtive glance in their direction. He’s showing her his phone. He has the Everyday Rewards app open. She has her Everyday Rewards app open. They are comparing balances.

At that point, I want to say to the woman, “Run for the hills! You’re not made for each other. There’s more to life than how many points you have. He’s never going to be the man you want or need!!”

They leave, and I’ll never know if his rewards impressed her enough for a second date, or vice versa.

The situation was a little sad. I kept imagining the sheer panic of not having enough conversation that comparing Everyday Rewards seemed like a good idea to them.

I have never, and will never, do that to Linda.

But, I can reveal to you all now: My Everyday Rewards balance is 1108 out of 2000—nearly a winner, in so many ways.

Thanks for reading. Ka kite anō.

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