Expectations

I've been thinking a LOT about expectations lately.  And for the past few years really.  I have come to the conclusion that my personal expectations are probably my greatest barrier to happiness.  I get in my head how something is supposed to go, what it's going to look like, what I'm going to look like in a certain role or situation, what life is supposed to give to me...and then I'm devastated when it doesn't work out that way.  It has happened over and over for me.  And it always feels huge and all consuming when it's happening.

While eating lunch with family a few months ago, this topic came up and my brother said something like, "You just have to learn to have low expectations!"  We all laughed...and then I went home and thought about it, because I can't ever turn my brain off.  Learning to live with low expectations just doesn't sit well with me.  So I came up with this - have high hopes and low expectations.  Yeah, that seems a bit better.  It might buffer some of those dreaded moments of disappointment.  But it's still not quite there.  I hate getting my hopes up.  And how do I manage to have low expectations and protect my heart when my hopes are high?  Isn't it just a paradox?

Ok, then another thought as I was sitting in church (bored....oops, did I just admit that?)  This came into my head - work hard and give in.  Work hard for what you want.  And know what it is you want.  Live a very deliberate life full of hard work and conscious choices.  And then, if and when things don't work out how you envisioned, just give in.  Give in to what is.  And find the beauty in it.  Find what developed because something else fell apart.

But, in a world full of "DO YOUR BEST" and "NEVER GIVE UP," I realize this might sound a bit passive or less than motivational.

Let me give a very personal example from my life.  One that is still fresh and raw, but also one that I think I'm ready to share.  Ten years ago in July (just a few days away, if my memory serves), I came home early from my LDS mission.  I was severely depressed.  What I felt it my heart while it was happening cannot be described.  I've all but erased the memories of my last few months in Argentina.  It was a very dark and desperate place.  Coming home was my worst case scenario.  And it happened.  I had envisioned the exact opposite of everything about my mission.  Everything.  My expectations were sky high.  I was going to do everything right, I was going to be successful, I was going to return with honor, and tell stories about "the best 18 months of my life" for the rest of my life.  Just like I was supposed to.

I came home cynical, wounded, angry, lonely, and full of self hatred.  Self hatred to last a lifetime.  And then some.  My life was a shame.  I was a failure.  I would never live it down.  It was the biggest blow I had ever faced.

Instead of giving in and finding the beauty, I fought it and hated myself for it...for a long time.  Then, one day after I was married, my husband said to me, "Maybe you came home for me."  That one sentence opened up a whole new mindset for me.  I looked at what I had as a result of coming home early.  And I found beauty.  Lots of it.  A kind of beauty I don't think I could have had if I'd served the perfect mission and come home the way I expected to.  My loss of perfect expectations gave me empathy and courage and perspective I'm not sure I would have had otherwise.  I feel fortunate to see it that way.  Although every time I attend a homecoming, don't look at me or talk to me....  Like I said.  It's still raw.  I still have a problem with expectations.

Michael Wilcox wrote a book called 10 Great Souls I Want to Meet in Heaven.  One of the people he writes about is Sir Ernest Shackleton, who failed more than once in his many conquests as an explorer.  In one expedition, his ship, Endurance, became trapped in ice pack and was crushed before he reached his destination.  Wilcox writes this:

"So often in our lives, the dreams, goals, and aspirations that mean so much to us may seem like the shattered wreckage of the Endurance...  It is easy to sit on the ice and mourn the loss, to constantly churn the 'what ifs" in our minds.  When these moments come to me, and they have, I think of those oh-so-powerful words of Sir Ernest.  We must shape ourselves to a new mark - and we must do so 'directly.'  There is not room for continuous depressing reflection on the past - what we wanted, what we lost, what we should have done better.  Too much is at stake.  Living requires our 'energies...mental power...and experience.'  We find the new mark, shape ourselves to it, and move forward."