I thought I had a handle on expectations. I am pretty good at going with the flow and getting behind my kids to let them lead their own way on THEIR path. I even acknowledge that I am kind of tough on myself with the expectations I have for myself. All going normally; I thought I was doing okay.
I was wrong.
The holidays have really thwacked me this year around expectations. I’ve had to really think this through, and for me, it’s not the expectations of having a “perfect” holiday, but something far more insidious.
I have an unyielding expectation that I must create good memories about this holiday. My kids are late teens, and I can feel the change coming. For me, that means that I must store as many good memories away as I can, stockpiling them for the future.
I notice that I am ruthless with myself when there’s a wrinkle, while my heart opens up when there’s a moment of shared laughter. My expectations are sign posts letting me know that I am scared and want to protect, defend, and conserve — so it’s time for me to move toward relaxing more, embracing more, and softening.
Happiest of New Year’s to you!