"If you expect nothing from anybody, you're never disappointed."
--Sylvia Plath
This quotation may seem a bit bleak for the beginning of a new year, but for me, personally, it presents a solid challenge, something that I very much need to address in this new year. Let me provide an example to illustrate what I'm talking about.
Yesterday, Sarah and I headed out into the wilds of the Chuckanut Mountains to tackle the Fragrance Lake Trail (my very favorite local trail--challenging yet doable). Now, normally, I like to time myself, estimating how long it will take me to hike the two miles (and 1,100 feet) up to the lake. But today, since I had company with shorter legs and a lot less focus, I had to give myself a pep talk. "It's okay if you don't make it all the way to the top. You've been all the way to the top dozens of times. It hasn't changed. Nobody is watching. Nobody is judging." But even still, even with the self-imposed pep talk, I was worried. "I'm not going to get my exercise! I shouldn't have skipped the gym this morning! Guess I'm done eating for the day..."
Really?
So up we went, my girl and me. Every 20 feet or so, she would stop, noticing something new and different and fascinating. "Hey, I wonder what this is?" "Hey, I wonder who lives in this hole?"
Christ. At this rate, I'll never get to the top.
And this is exactly what I'm talking about--about how expectations can ruin a perfectly good outing with your daughter. Here I was, thinking "What's in it for me?" completely disregarding what this experience might mean/be for her. Pretty selfish, eh?
The one forest item that caused Sarah to consistently stop in her tracks was fungi. (Who doesn't love a good fungi?) There were white ones and orange ones and big ones and tiny ones, all pleading to be paid attention:
Another time-consuming ascent activity involved Sarah transforming into a super hero. She would "hear" a phone ringing, answer it, get the address of the emergency, and leap into action, describing what the emergency was (a fire set by a cat chewing on Christmas lights, or a bank robbery). Here she is taking a call:
Finally, after nearly 2 hours and 1 mile covered, we arrived at the half-way point, marked by a rather dramatic overlook onto Samish Bay:
At this point, it was 3:00, and it became clear to me that we wouldn't have enough daylight to get us all the way up to the lake, and back down again before darkness fell. And yes--this freaked me out a little bit. I didn't get the strenuous workout that my holiday-sedentary body had been craving. I didn't get any time to contemplate the year that had passed, or the year that was just beginning. I didn't get to have it "my way."
But that's okay.
See, that's the thing about me and expectations. Mine are, and always have been, exceedingly high. Because of this, even the best of events/parties/travel fall woefully short compared to the picture I had created in my head. This problem goes hand-in-hand with my perfection tendencies. Add perfectionism and high expectations, and you get a toxic cocktail of frustration and disappointment.
This has to stop.
We made it down to the bottom of the trail at around 4:00, which left us a little time to scamper across the street to the beach and watch the sun set beyond the Olympic Mountains. To my pleasant surprise, the tide was out when we arrived, so we were able to investigate some tide pools and sandstone formations as we watched the sky become show-off-y:
Had I tried to race up the extra mile to the lake, we wouldn't have gotten to explore the rocks and tide pools. We wouldn't have met a lovely mutt named "Charlie." We wouldn't have seen kayakers and beachcombers passing us by.
And this is my point. No matter what you plan for, what you "expect," I think that a force far greater than you or me has other outcomes in mind. When I fixate on how something "should" turn out, I automatically close the door to other possibilities that might be equally as positive (if not moreso). I could be purposefully closing myself from experiences that I need to have, all because I don't think (or don't even know) that I need to have them. I need to trust that force more. I need to be fascinated by fungi, and receive calls from people in distress, and look for tiny creatures inside of tiny shells beyond the surf line. I need to not get my proverbial panties in a wad whenever something doesn't go exactly according to the way I had planned it. After all, what do I know?
Last New Year's Day, my Word of the Year was "intentionality." I still believe in intentionally, in doing things with clear intention. However, I don't believe that intention necessarily needs to be saddled with expectations of what should happen. What happens is what is supposed to happen. That's what I'm going to focus on from here on out--with no expectation of ever perfecting it.
Comments