The life resume
RIDA IMRAN WONDERS IF HER LIFE SKILLS AND ACHIEVEMENTS ARE WORTHY OF A CV.
This resume is a life-long conundrum. From a young age we are advised to be humble and wise. “Don’t be snooty or haughty, too slick or too proud,” My nan would say. “Just be good and do it quietly.” As an impressionable tyke, this advice was well received. Then in charges adulthood, abruptly slapping us in the face with things called jobs and resumes, demanding we shamelessly persuade the world we are the biggest and best.
I liked nans idea better.
During life we are faced with the daunting task of convincing others we are worthy — of jobs, grants, boyfriends, girlfriends. We promise future greatness and boast of triumphs past, and at times the truth becomes muddied. Updating a blog becomes Published Author, changing a Facebook picture becomes Web Developer, and writing the resume itself makes us the Creative Developer of Entreprenuerial Prospects. Yes, it’s a newly created position.
Then the question was put to me: “When it’s time to ‘move on’, what will be in the resume of your life?”
This was meant to be a flippant aside. But think about it — how would you sum up your life in a few brief pages? Sadly my initial thought was, “I wonder what font I’d use.” The trickier part is deciding what to include.
Earlier last year I was involved in a minor car accident. In a moment of lapsed concentration I made a right-hand turn into the passenger door of a traveling cab, infuriating the driver and terrifying his fare. I’m not sure whose fault it was — lets call it a draw. Before we engaged in formalities, I offered my apologies to the passenger. She was dignified, middle-aged lady with a look on her face suggesting she had well truly just shit her pants. I said sorry, and truly meant it. The dignified lady then spent the next two minutes berating me with an outstanding mishmash of swear words.
I look back on this moment and realize that this is all she will ever know of me. I’m a hooligan, a thug, a vicious brute on wheels with nothing on my mind except mayhem and murder (and ice-cream, had she cared to ask). I desperately wanted to talk to her; I wanted to tell her about all the good deeds I’ve done and the ones I might do. But I didn’t. It’d be hard to impress a middle-aged lady after she calls you a ‘Shit-headed Mayhem causing teenager’. Instead I took her barrage, apologized again, and narrowed down my ice-cream selection.
We all like to think of ourselves as good people with good hearts, entirely qualified for the Human Race Hall of Fame. Clearly not everyone agrees. Thus, I won’t be putting Madam Sweary Pants down as a reference. Impressing others involves exaggerating your strengths and shrinking your faults, right? Under no circumstances should you admit vulnerability or failure. It was just a silly mishap after all; a lapse of concentration. Maybe I just won’t mention ‘attention to detail’.
In 2008 I also met a man whose fingers had been severed while saving the life of a workmate. He didn’t know the man well, but assured me if he had his time over, he’d do it again. I asked him why and he simply replied, “Because it’s nice to be nice.”
It’s nice to be nice. Five innocuous words that form the very essence of morality. The fingerless man is heroic! His deeds are unselfish and done with a hush. Maybe Nan was right all along. There’s no need to slate and holler, brag or swagger. “Just be good and do it quietly”
I’m glad I let the lady swear at me and I’m glad I felt remorseful and not resentful. Mostly I’m glad there are middle-aged ladyies still out there inclined to say “Shit-head”.
Adulthood is ruthless, with our grip on innocence forever slipping. We feel pressured to impress or we’ll be swept aside by the bullies. But it is OK to admit fault, to be vulnerable and ‘nice’. It’s OK to be human. When it’s time to move on, the resume of my life will be short and honest.
Strengths: Listening to Nan and fingerless heroes.
Weaknesses: Reasoning with furious, middle-aged ladies.
Oh, and if you are wondering about the font: Trebuchet MS.
