"Lower your expectations." "Don't get your hopes up." "Prepare to be disappointed."
I've heard these ten billion times in my life, and, much like their useless cousin "Calm down," they don't actually accomplish anything. In fact, when I hear "Don't get your hopes up," my mind takes me on a quick journey through all my wildest hopes and loftiest dreams...and now, great, they're stuck in my head. Thanks, Other Person Who Can Apparently Manage Their Expectations, must be nice!
How could I, unshakeable optimist and denizen of a wild imagination, ever not get my hopes up??
As soon as the idea comes into my head to go somewhere, do something, or God forbid, plan a special excursion like visiting a pumpkin patch or getting a Christmas tree, I'm envisioning the absolute most magical version of that scenario (moonbeams, shooting stars, great lighting for photos).
Maybe this tendency is a gift from time to time (I can write the hell out of a travel itinerary) but it means I'm almost always disappointed.
If only the cellist were in this plaza like he was last time.
If only we had that wonderful waitress I had three years ago.
If only we'd gotten here half an hour early to see the sunset.
If only that one thing was as thing-like as it was before.
If only I had worn the yellow dress. Dammit, then this would be perfect.
I'm not capable of not getting my hopes up, and come to think of it, I don't know if I want to be. Anticipation is the happiest part of a vacation, according to science, and I've spent countless hours daydreaming up beautiful future scenarios that I wouldn't have spent any other way. It's a lovely thing to hope. Don't take that away from me, Aforementioned Phrases!
That said, a slight shift has occurred for me in the past couple years, which has made the inevitable disappointments a bit easier to stomach: I've begun savoring specific moments, rather than assessing the experience as a whole.
It was so nice when that man helped us take the tree out to the car.
It was so nice to see your favorite painting with you.
It was so nice to stop for donuts.
It was so nice when the sun finally came out for 3 seconds.
I'm training myself to look for them and note them, as we end up seeing what we look for.
Perhaps it's the reverse of a bucket list: Not an aggressive conquest collection of Things I Want To Do, but a soft symphony of what has happened to me.
This shift from consuming to experiencing has showed up most noticeably in my travels. I haven't taken many trips since the start of the pandemic, but I've noticed that my attention span for gazing, contemplating, and beholding has gotten monumentally higher.
It reminded me of this tweet:
I've gotten significantly better at noticing what is here, rather than what isn't.
You might conclude that this is a natural byproduct of increased gratitude in the wake of the pandemic, but from my experience and from what I've observed, humans are far too adaptable to linger in a state of appreciativeness for long.
For instance, you'd think after experience with temporary paralysis, I'd be so elated just to be able to go out for a sandwich or get on a bus, but it turns out that serious illness isn't a one-stop-shop for otherworldly perspective, abounding gratitude, and sustained wonder for the rest of your life. Otherwise we'd probably have a lot more poets.
Plus, annoying stuff ends up happening. As my mentor says, "It's easy to be spiritual in the forest; it's hard to be spiritual when you're on the phone with an insurance company."
So it's not about Wow I'm just so thankful for every single second that I'm not stuck inside my house watching my eleventh episode of The West Wing for the day while a horrific virus slithers through my city.
I think it's about learning how to seek evidence for a benevolent universe, rather than look for ways that I'm being let down. It's about learning the value of a minute, rather than the grand total of a whole day.
It's not a matter of lowering expectations at all (those guys will always be sky-high), but of practicing saying, "What a nice life moment" when the occasion arises. The more I practice that, the more I see them.
I just got back from a week-long vacation, and, instead of journaling about all the things I did, I'm jotting down moments that unfolded for me, such as this al fresco sleep:
I recently read Travels with Epicurus, in which a delightful philosopher in his 70s elaborates on the benefits of traveling while older. He opens with a confession that he used to pity older travelers when he was a young explorer, deeming them quite pathetic (or worse, adorable) in their pursuit of globe-trotting.
But now he knows their secret: that travel is actually a LOT better when you're not wondering how it will enhance your identity, expand your personality, fit your narrative or....look on your Instagram.
He talks about how life gets really good when you stop going places to prove anything to others/yourself, and to go instead with easeful openness.
That's how I'm trying to be this season. Even though I don't identify as a Summer Personâ„¢, I always get anxious at the beginning of summer as I hear about others' plans and immediately feel like I was signed up for a competition I never intended to enter.
I read "summer bucket lists" filled with activities and adventures, which all sound fabulous but, in their fabulousness, they make me panic. HOW DO I GET MY HANDS ON A FIRE PIT, I ask myself frantically, and wonder how it's mid-July already.
The problem with these lists, for a World Class Expectation-Haver like me, is that they are so specific in their outcomes. Maybe that's fine for you Zen Masters who are able to just go into an experience with no end result in mind, but I know it would really trigger my need for it all to adhere to a certain standard of magic.
Instead, I propose a different sort of list. I started a brainstorm of "nice life moments" that often happen in summer. I won't specifically seek them out, but if they happen, I will be sure to pay attention, and remark accordingly.
Here are a few of my ideas for the season:
-hearing car wheels on a gravel road
-forgetting about a full moon, then being stunned by it through my kitchen window
-going to the movie theater to keep cool on a hot afternoon, ordering an ice cream bar wherein the vanilla ice cream melts before the chocolate so I have to sort of slurp it out of its shell
-drawing a smiley face with my foot in warm wet sand
-using a paperback to shade my face
-watching the movement of a firefly loop around a garden at dusk
-cocooning myself in cold cotton sheets
-beginning a library book and enjoying the satisfying crinkle of the plastic cover opening up
-twirling on a lawn:
What are yours?
P.S. If you are already blazing through your own summer plans and ready to think about (northern hemisphere) fall, I'm leading a retreat October 7-9 in North Carolina at the Art of Living Retreat Center. It's a stunning, soulful campus with so much intentionality infused into its food, spaces, and programming. I'll be teaching writing and art, but there's no experience required in either!! I would *LOVE* to see you there. Learn more here!