On Not Meeting Expectations: Why I'm Not A Typical Georgian Girl

Forbes

a day ago

When I was very young, my grandfather Konstantine looked at me and said, 'You're going to make change.' I didn't know what he meant, but I believed him. He wasn't the type of man who spoke lightly.
My grandfather was my role model. He was a former prosecutor turned village lawyer, and one of the smartest, most respected, and most principled people I've ever known. He had lived through political collapse, watched the Soviet Union disintegrate, and understood—better than most—that tomorrow was never guaranteed.
'You should know everything,' he used to tell me, 'because no one knows what the future will look like.'
So, he taught me to be ready. Summers in the countryside with him and my grandmother were full of the kinds of adventures usually reserved for boys. I learned to drive a car before I was tall enough to see over the wheel, to shoot a gun, catch fish, fix engines, write my grandfather's legal case files by candlelight, and carve furniture from wood. I wasn't praised for being pretty or obedient. I was praised for what I could do.
This was because my grandfather also truly believed that women and men were equal. From an early age, he made it clear that I could do whatever I wanted with my life and be whatever I wanted to be. He even said it wouldn't matter if I got married a hundred times—what mattered was that I was happy. For a Georgian man of his generation, that wasn't just unusual.
It was radical.
Georgia Has Old Traditions—And Old Expectations
Georgia is an ancient country filled with ancient traditions, and while those rituals and ways of life are beautiful, meaningful, and fascinating, they can also be a little stifling. Even today, in the 21st century, girls are still raised to become wives and mothers. We are expected to cook, clean, and look pretty for our husbands, to support their lives without asking too much of ourselves. If we have careers, which many of us do, we're not expected to take them too seriously.
Then again, my mother wasn't a traditional Georgian girl either. She waited to marry until after medical school—unheard of in the 1980s. My parents wanted me to wait, too—they didn't raise me to belong to someone else, they raised me to belong to myself. So they sacrificed everything to give me every opportunity, including the best education and options neither of them ever had. For the most part, I took advantage of everything they offered me. Except, maybe, their advice…
The Generation That Got Left Behind
I know how lucky I was to grow up with my parents. Many of my peers didn't have that kind of support at home. The collapse of the Soviet Union destroyed a way of life for my parents' generation. Imagine raising a family after losing everything you've built. Many of my friends' parents fell into despair or turned to alcohol, drugs, or crime. Some of my friends were abused. Some ran away. Some of them disappeared into drugs, gambling, or violence. Not because they were bad people, but because they grew up in a world without hope. They couldn't see a future in a broken country without any rules or reliable support systems to guide them.
I was lucky. I had people who held onto their beliefs and their wits despite the hardship, and raised me to be part of the solution. Their sacrifices opened a world of experiences to me, including studying abroad, performing with acting and dance troupes all over Europe, and eventually translating Italian TV scripts for a Georgian channel—all before college. I was accepted to Georgia's top university—what many call the Harvard of the Caucasus. I was positioned to make a difference.
So did I follow my parents' advice and let nothing stand in my way? Not exactly. But that's a subject for another article…
For now, I'll leave you with this thought: Not being a typical Georgian girl has allowed me to live a bigger life and use that life to make change, just like my grandfather said I would.
I'm deeply grateful for that.