Lowering my expectations

Granny’s response to a lot of things was, “I ain’t getting my hopes up.”

I thought this was kind of morose and sad – we’re supposed to be hopeful, aren’t we?

“Why?” was her response. “When I do, I always get disappointed.”

Mama, on the other hand, tries to see the good in things and when stuff doesn’t work out, she tries to come up with some kind of divine reasoning.

“When something doesn’t happen the way you want it to, it’s just because something better is on its way,” Mama will say.

Being reared by both of these redheads has caused me to fluctuate between the extremes.

On one hand, I am always looking for the positive; on the other, I have started to understand Granny’s mantra.

And let me tell you, 2017 has been a year of disappointment.

I tend to do a lot of reflecting this time of the year and think about the past 12 months and how I want the coming year to be.

I hoped – no, make that knew – that 2017 was going to be amazing.

And it hasn’t.

Far from it.

As this year has gone by, I have realized some cold, hard truths about a few friends, making my circle even smaller.

Instead of trying to hold on to these outgrown relationships, I remembered Granny’s words.

“Not everyone will do for you the way you do for them,” she told me more than once, probably after she had experienced a personal lesson. “If you expect them to do what you would do, you gonna be sorely disappointed. They won’t. But they will be there on your doorstep whenever they need you.”

She was right. This year has shown me, yet again, the friends that only were around when they needed me and when I needed them, they dismissed me.

Boy, did it hurt.

“Ain’t no need for it to hurt,” Granny foretold. “Better to know what you’re dealing with upfront than not. I ain’t got time for people like that.”

A few opportunities I had been excited about turned out to be huge disappointments this year.

More than a few.

Some came to an end and some never really worked out the way they were supposed to.

“Look for the things that went right,” Mama gently reminded me.

It was an impossible task.

Mama didn’t believe me. I assured her it was.

So, in the coming year, I am lowering my expectations.

It’s not that I am being a Negative Nellie.

Like Granny, I am not going to get my hopes up about things; again, not trying to be negative.

Just go with me on this for a second.

I am actually going to look at things from a realistic standpoint.

I am not going to project my personal attitudes and ways of doing things on others. Other people may have their own thing going on that has nothing to do with me.

I am going to be a bit more grounded in my approach.

Instead of thinking one event was going to be so life-changing, I was going to put the focus on me and what I can do to change my life.

I think we tend to build things up in our minds sometimes where we make them so much bigger and grander than what they are.

We think that one job, that one person, that one something is going to make all these changes in our lives and when it doesn’t, we feel like Granny often did.

“Nothing goes the way I want, so why should I get excited about this?” she said more than once.

Mama countered with, “Because sometimes you have to be excited about something, Mama. It’s good for our souls to get our hopes up and be excited. We have to have hope to hold on to.”

Maybe that was just it.

Granny had gotten her hopes up so many times and it didn’t happen the way she wanted.

I know. I’ve been there. Heck, I am wallowing in the shallow end of the pool right now.

But I am trying, with all I’ve got, to find that hope my sweet yet crazy Mama preaches about.

So, I am setting the bar just a tiny bit lower.

I think lowering my expectations may be the answer.

Not that I am thinking I will be disappointed.

But maybe so I can be happily amazed.

Dealing with the weeds of life (9/24/2014)

If I am being honest, there’s more times than I count that things don’t go my way.

I am sure you know what I am talking about, too.

I am not referring to those petty issues of not getting my way, like I don’t get to watch the reruns of “NCIS” because the game is on or I wanted Italian and everyone else wanted Mexican.

I am referring to those big deal, ginormous issues that explode out of nowhere and make you question your whole existence type of thing.

It seems like there’s times, no matter how hard you try, something goes wrong.

No matter how much I try to do some things, stuff happens and I feel like I am taking two steps back for every step ahead.

“I feel like I am in quicksand,” I said one day. Not to any one particular, mind you, just to myself.

Why? I am a good person, I whined.

I do the right thing. “I think I have some good karma piled up somewhere” is my argument.

But it sometimes feels like I am bombarded with circumstances I shouldn’t be.

I feel like I am sometimes a living Alanis Morissette song – not the angry at her ex-boyfriend raging one, but the one about life’s little bittersweet ironies.

“What do you need?” a friend asked once.

“A wailing wall – you know, a padded wall I can freely throw myself up against and scream and cry and kick and…”


“And wail.” That’s what it feels like on these occasions.

I have my fits, I am not proud of the fact, but I do. My Granny would have her fits too. She said it kept her from imploding to let the steam out instead of blowing like a pressure cooker.

I have had quite a few fits here lately it seems.

“It’s weeds, that’s all it is,” Mama said.


“Yes, weeds,” she replied. “You are letting these little pesky weeds crop up and spoil your garden, Kitten.”

“I don’t have a garden, Mama, literally or figuratively. I am just tired of feeling like I bust my tater all the time and things just go so dadblamed wrong.”

“Weeds,” she repeated. “You do have a garden – it’s called life. And every life has weeds. How you deal with them is up to you.”

I asked Mama where she came up with this weeds thing. “Joel Osteen. A lot of times, he’s preaching to you, you know.”

He may be. Someone needs to, I told her.

“Everyone has weeds, Kitten, everyone. Some people fake it better than others; your problem is you think you are the only one who goes through anything that’s yucky. You aren’t. You just seem to hone in on those weeds though more than you do the blooms.”

That was enough gardening talk for one day. And besides, Mama was getting too close to making sense and that scared me a little.

So there I was, in the middle of a glorious hissie fit, how life had thrown me a dozen lemons and forgot the tequila to go along with it and was just not how I thought it should be.

I’ve had this fit numerous times before – more times than I would care to count – so maybe they were weeds. They were as persistent as weeds could be.

Back to my fit. There I was, having my hissie, to the point I was inconsolable. I was beyond comfort food, cheesecake wouldn’t have made this seem better – everything seemed to be going wrong and it was something cheesecake wouldn’t fix. This was bad.

“Sweet girl, what is wrong?” my child asked.

I shook my head, not wanting to tell him. How do you explain to a child – who still has a lifetime of dreams and hopes ahead of him – that sometimes life is just not fair and your dreams may not only not come true but get stomped on, rolled up, battered and fried and thrown back in your face?

“Nothing,” I lied, wiping my face.

Cole didn’t believe me. “There is something, so tell me. Please.”

He looked at me with such sincerity and earnestness in his eyes, I knew he would persist until I told him. So I simplified it.

“Sometimes, I just get a bit overwhelmed, baby. I feel like life didn’t turn out the way I thought it would and have these issues, circumstances and whatnot pop up at the worst possible time. It’s just more than I think is fair sometimes.”

It sounded simple to me.

“How did you think life would be?” he asked quietly.

“Better. More.”

He nodded slowly. “What did you think would be better?”

“I don’t know. I thought it would be, I don’t know. Just … better. Easier, maybe, without so many struggles.”

My child smiled and put his hands on the side of my face.
“Sweet girl … everyone has struggles. Look at what all you have. You have me, Daddy, the pups. We have a roof over our head.”

His little voice cracked before he went on. “Mama, there’s people who have cancer, who are homeless … I know what you are feeling right now makes you feel like life is bad, when it’s not. There’s people who, no matter how bad you think things are, would gladly change places with you. Please, don’t let something that really won’t be a big deal tomorrow steal your joy from today. Just look at what you do have.”

“But I know this, Mama,” he continued. “The reason sometimes things seem so yucky is something really wonderful is about to happen. If you lose your faith, it can get you off track. Don’t let it – something awesome is about to happen. I know it.”

My little Minecraft, pig-loving philosopher was right. It was truly all about perspective. And faith. Sure, from where I sat things seemed pretty pitiful. Where someone else sat, their situation may be worse.

Mama called it weeds in my garden but my child put it in perspective. All I know is, if he’s right, about something awesome is about to happen, it’s gonna be huge.