Great Expectations

We don’t like to fail.  (Let me rephrase that.)  I don’t like to fail.

I woke up with the feeling that I should post something everyday.  (Oh geez, let me rephrase that.)

I woke up with the thought that I should post something everyday. And I felt frustrated and annoyed by this notion.

I kind of scribbled those notes down on a post it pad a few days ago, and at some point throughout the week, I emailed my psyche. I don’t know exactly when that occurred...and this morning, I stared at my inbox, realized that I knew the sender, and opened a message where nothing was a surprise. I didn’t even need to read it. I wish that I hadn’t.

Then, deciding to take action, I moved it to a folder entitled “Zero Fucks Given”, but I didn’t delete it altogether. Why? Because it’s an important message.

“If you don’t write something of substance everyday, then you don’t have enough to say.”

I’m pretty sure that I need to adjust the settings in Outlook. That should have gone directly to spam. Because remember, it came from ME. No one told me to do this. And yes, the irony (or maybe stupidity) is that I’m still writing.

Expectations are a bitch...and it's interesting when we realize that we often put the most unrealistic ones upon ourselves.

I try to worry less about if I’m doing this writing thing right. It’s not a short essay. It’s a long-ass novel that I’ll never finish, and if I think I am done, I am not writing for the right reasons. So, for the moment, I’ll continue to write and see what happens. Because I do give a fuck. I give a lot of fucks.

When I first returned from rehab, I had the time and energy to get down to the basics. Basic expectations that I put on myself and fulfilled for others. They were very, very simple. I had resigned from my teaching position right before I went on my 30 day retreat, so I didn’t have classes to prepare for and endless extracurricular activities to manage.

I just had to wake up, be a kind human, and speak in truth. That’s really it, when I got down to the nitty gritty.

And I did. I got down to it.

And it began to change me and everyone around me.

I had already started rising at 4:30 in Hunt, TX as well. Waking up without the heaviness of the 3-6 glasses I’d had the night before, left me more physically sound, but heavy just the same. I’d sit outside of the women’s dorm with coffee in hand, and watch the cats that lived on the property...paying attention to their every move.  And smile at the fact that they were choosing to make rehab their permanent home. That was funny. I figured they must be such well-adjusted and productive members of their feline families, because perhaps they too had daily therapy and communal meals with others. This all helps. If you haven’t tried it, you really should. It’s good for the soul.

And so this little practice of rising early continued in the first weeks home. I realized that most days I had about two hours to prepare myself for those two directives. Be kind and speak in truth. Mike was usually the first person I saw, and sometimes I had to say that I didn’t have shit. That I was in a bad place and just hoping it would get better. Don’t worry, I said it nicely, so that fulfilled both things on my list.

And it forced me to pay attention to how I even woke up my 9 year old at 6:00 am, realizing that I could and would affect him in the first moments of his day.

Because… "If you don't transform your suffering, you'll transmit it." ~Richard Rohr

Yep, that was one of the quotes on the first page of my legal pad. A scribbled reminder of what can happen if I don’t follow the first rule. And I resigned myself to remember THAT every single morning. 

Before rehab, I used to rise, stunned by my alarm at 6:00 and rush to his room to awaken him, moving so quickly that you’d think someone was chasing me. Maybe it was expectations and pain, riding my tail or trailing me three cars back, watching my every move. Regardless of where they were watching from, they were there.

And I didn’t want that anymore. Even if it took me hours to get my head and heart aligned with intention, that was the goal. And when I sat on his bed at 6:00, I tried to speak gently and look him in the eyes. Creating the time to be kind.

And pay attention. Lordy, it’s really simple. We affect everyone around us, and when I try to be cognizant of that on a daily basis, I’m a better person. I had to be patient with him and also myself. And I still do.

Mike just came down the stairs just now, rising earlier than usual, so I didn’t have time to prepare for the greeting. Luckily we’ve already started the practice of hugging each morning. Just a physical reminder that we are in this thing together, and sometimes the action itself relaxes the parts of us that woke up strung out and weary. Human connection must be conscious sometimes, because I can easily avert others as I cling to my innermost woes. He often realizes this before I do, and when we touch, I can feel myself ease into something different...because I’m reminded that I’m loved. And seen. And I worry less about what the picture is. I just accept his offering, and likely, it will help me move throughout my day.

I have another 3o minutes before I need to wake up my youngest. It’s probably time that I get straight. I think this helped. I realize that I do give more than a few fucks about writing every day, but I need to question just why.

Answering that question is still on my mental notepad, but I have more important things to do. This was speaking my truth, and I hope I was kind.

We can change the energy of a room by our mere entrance into it. Just ask the parent of a teenager if the room is not transformed when their angst comes rolling in. I don’t get to act like a petulant child. Any disappointments or traumas of yesterday are mine, and mine alone. I just got to deal with that shit.

My efforts to “pass on wisdom and not woe” need to be written as the title for my day. I’ll keep writing my story and see what happens. You never know what to expect.