Surrendering My Expectations

 

            

    Autumn stretches her long arms and nature surrenders to her embrace by slowing folding under and going to sleep. And by putting the garden to bed I know my energy has shifted toward reflection. We said goodbye to the summer with Thanksgiving, which was very different from last year's huge celebration. And I fondly glance back on Oct 2019 and think of my great expectations for Thanksgiving 2020. Before Scott and I drove away from my parents place at the lake last year we made plans for the whole family to be together on Thanksgiving 2020. But alas, we know that the pandemic that swept the whole world off it's axis prevented not only us missing family dinner but also for many others. It was another blow to the social calendar, another reminder that we can't make plans too far in the future. 

Like many others, I've been thinking often about my expectations for 2020 and how this lack luster of a year has been anything close to my expectations.  In March, coming out of what felt like a social hibernation from grieving my dear friend Lisa for most of the winter, I had huge expectations for the spring and summer. I was ready to rekindle friendships and spend oodles of time with my family at the lake. I was gaining my footing and making big plans to explore Vancouver with my husband and host dinner parties. And then overnight the world we knew literally stopped. Everyone in the world was trapped, isolated in their houses, scared of the unknown. How long would Covid last? Were we going to travel this summer? Could we actually get back to normal before the fall? 

Each month our hopes were dashed and our expectations rejigged once again. I became more and more frustrated and angry because I couldn't control anything, besides the level of cleanliness in my house. It seemed every time I planned something it didn't happen. And I found myself so entrenched in grieving the way things used to be it was all I thought about. There were traditions not played out and it felt like I was suffocating under the weight of anxiety that grew from that. 

Then out of no where something shifted. My mindset. I started a morning routine, inspired by my now fitness coach Anne Jones. And with every morning meditation, every morning affirmation, every piece of gratitude I started to surrender my expectations. I let go of how things were supposed to be and focused only on the day ahead. I stopped grasping for experiences from the past that I couldn't re-create and I stopped making plans for the future. I focused on the small things of the day and was grateful. I was getting good at that. 

And then I stopped having expectations for people to have the same comfort level as myself when it came to Covid protocols. My husband and I are very cautious and leery when it comes to social activities and public spaces; our bubble is tiny and I'm okay with that. Some people spent the summer gallivanting across the country and that was their decision because of their comfort level. And at the time it really bothered me, but now I let that go. I can't force my expectations on someone else much like they can't on me. And I started to learn to control my reactions to things since I couldn't control everything or everyone. 

But with summer gone and back to work, which is a whole new level of emotions, I'm finding myself once again struggling with the need to control everything and it's exhausting. I'm placing unrealistic expectations on myself to be the perfect teacher, wife, friend, colleague and family member. I'm having to relearn the lesson to surrender my control and expectations. And know that it is okay to be not okay. And that I am enough and I am worthy. And that I can only focus on today and give up the expectations from the past and future. 

Who knows where we will be by the end of 2020 but at least I have today and that makes me happy. 

Thinking of You

     

It was an average Saturday afternoon in October- rainy and lazy.  I look back on that day and smile, as it was the last time Lisa and I spent alone; just us gals hanging out.  All we did was lounge on her couches, wrapped in blankets, watching Property Brothers.  In the moment I didn’t know this would be the last time I'd see her outside of the hospital. And if I’d known maybe I would have said more or we could have watched something a little more memorable, but I didn’t know.  We both didn’t.

    I look back on that day and I smile as it was just how things always were with us-easy and comfortable.  Lisa was one of my friends that I could just sit and be with, no extra chatter to fill space.  We were at ease with the silence.  On camping mornings and later afternoon deck time, if it was just us, there was always moments where we didn’t need to talk.  On our camping trips Lisa and I could sit for hours quietly reading and I loved those days. 

    In 2019 I watched my friend slowly and yet so quickly pass away.  Things were good until the Spring and by Fall we all knew there wouldn’t be much time left.  We hoped there would have been, but secretly we knew she’d be gone too soon.  Somehow, we thought we’d see another Christmas and New Years with her, but we didn’t. 

    I think about her last month and the final days often because they were not how she wanted to spend them. No one would- too tired to eat and sleep, too tired to do anything really.  And then the last few weeks in the hospital.

 It’s funny how everyone says, “oh, if I knew I didn’t have lots of time left I’d…” and then we all go into elaborate plans of the last things we’d do.  As though we’d have the strengthen and energy to tick off items on our bucket list.  One last hurrah. Though when you realize there isn’t much time left it usually means you don’t have the health or the means to live the life you wanted in the end.  I know that Lisa didn’t.  There were lots of things she wanted to do with her husband before she passed that she couldn’t do. And maybe that’s the thing.  The lesson we are supposed to take away from her death.  Is that we need to life live to the fullest and live like it is our last.  These cliched adages are true. 

    I don’t have a word this year like I normally do, and I certainly don’t have resolutions, but I do know that 2020 is one of transition.  2019 brought big changes to my life- new job and loss of a dear friend.  Now I need to figure out where I fit in this new reality and how to create a life with purpose. One where I don’t shy away from the unknown or the new as I tend to do that. Trying new things, saying yes and doing things now and not later is what I want to have courage to do. 

     I end this blog post with a poem I wrote for Lisa after she passed away.  I think of her everyday and I miss her all the time. She was someone I saw almost daily and now I can only see her in the world around me.

Soliloquy of an Angel

In the soft winter morning sky

I caught a glimpse of your voice

Lilac, light and warm.

You were there

In the rays of sun stretching

Through bare tree limbs

I felt a whisper of your scent

Peonies and ocean-sweet and fresh

In the echo of the winter breeze

I held your smile

You were there.

You are scattered everywhere

In the softness of a feather floating to the ground.

In the first green bud of a starved winter.

In the twinkle of garden lights.

You are everywhere.

You left us shattered after your last breath

And now we pick up the pieces, scattered everywhere we go

Hoping to mend and feel whole once again.

You were there and you are everywhere.

 ­-- Margo Freeman