Expectations

Expectations are a bitch. Expectations of people, yourself and your abilities, your family, your body, your DOG, your (ex) partner(s) and of life and nature.

Body

My body is not living up to my expectations in a very real way at this moment. First of all, I am sick to my stomach (grr). Blech. And my Gatorade and Ginger Ale are in Madrona. I am in Fremont. And secondly, my knee. It fails me at every turn and despite my very best effort at rehabilitation. I have been introduced to fibularis longus.

This pesky muscle was cramping all fall. I never bothered to look up the actual name of this muscle that plagued me in the middle of the night. I found myself in a bed that failed to provide me an easy exit for walking about to alleviate the pain but that (also) served as a barrier to immediate access to a computer on which to research this new pain. (oof, wordy, my Dad would have ink all over that sentence in a heart beat) [Note to self: story of learning to write as told by myself and my Dad – future blog post]

Well, Kiwani, much enjoyed massage therapist lady introduced me to this pesky muscle. We were attempting to identify the exact source of my knee pain – the insertion point of this muscle. Upon further investigation, this muscle is TIGHT. Best described by Kiwani as feeling like “a piece of wood.” It rolls under the hand. It is not pliable. It will roll under my rolling pin in a minute here… (not kidding).

The expectations of our bodies. I am told it only gets worse but I choose to turn off those voices. I hear them, I let them enter my brain and I quickly let them go before internalizing them. I am sad that my knee hurts. Sad in the way that I want a hug! (I thought it might be awkward if I asked Kiwani for a hug.)

[Note to self: the art of hugging and massage – future blog posts – separate blog posts… maybe]

Writing

First of all, listen to the RadioLab podcast of Robert speaking with Malcom Gladwell. It is entertaining but it also resonates well with my current line of thinking. MG at some point remarks that we essentially teach our children that if they are not the very best at any given endeavor than the pursuit lacks value. Wow. That encapsulates how I feel about my entire childhood. Shouldn’t we derive enjoyment from the pursuit itself? Why do we have to be the best? Or define someone else as the best?

Breaking free. I have decided to endeavor those things that I perceived worthless because I was incapable of mastering them. Writing and singing at the forefront. This blog. Singing lessons. Piano. At Doyle Elementary, Liane was an exquisite piano player in the eyes of her 11 year old peers. How could I ever play piano? Nicole started playing soccer in 3rd grade, it is too late for me. Seriously?!

Time to let the expectations of excellence go. They have no place in the enjoyment of life.

Families

Families are weird. Family presents the most difficult of expectations. I have decided that it is possible to alter your expectations for just about anything but your family. With family, despite disappointment and experience, despite your best effort of emotional management, inevitably you find yourself returning back to grasp hold of deeply rooted expectations. They are tenacious and unyielding. You can’t help but want the best for them, wish for them to make healthy decisions, and hope they view you for who you are and how you see yourself. But they do as they will, expectedly, despite our expectations. We often (erroneously) believe they reflect back our expectations of ourselves.

Fortunately we know that they love us, and us them despite any amount of failed expectation management. I think the best we can all do is continue to be ourselves and accept that we are incapable of meeting everyone’s expectations.

Expectations. We expect to fall in love, we expect those that we love to love us back, we expect healthy babies and a normally progressing childbirth, we expect to feel well, we expect our pets to live forever, we expect people to want to change for the better, we expect our patients to survive, we expect to excel, we live with a lot of expectations, whatever they may be.

Totally unrelated. As I gingerly made my way through the aisles of Fred Meyer (FM affords one stop shopping, essential for the nauseous customer), I noted all the Easter items. Pondered again about how excited I am to have a little one in my life with whom to dye Easter eggs and then I stopped and shuffled back… this picture needs no caption. Bunny Rockets?!