‘unmet expectations are like kindling wood – it only take a spark of frustration to set them ablaze and burn those involved.’ Lysa TerKeurst – American author
After almost exactly two years after being back in the UK for the required lock-down, no-travel, masks-on, social distancing, navigate-the-pandemic long haul, the thought of returning to the sunny southern hemisphere and Cape Town in particular, has been the carrot of incentive I’ve needed to keep going, for some considerable time.
I have been looking forward to blue skies, seeing friends, the sound of the ocean, the vast expanses of African landscape, the red soil, the friendly faces, and the familiar, striking mountain skyline, for weeks if not months. Perhaps I envisaged skipping off the plane, shedding layers of UK-required clothing as I danced on the beach, plunged into the ocean and raised my face to the glorious sunshine.
Whatever my expectations (and they assuredly did not include all of the above), the reality has proved somewhat different. After a welcome 24-48 hours of finding my feet and making up for a night of sleep lost by the twelve hour flight, and indeed, standing briefly on a familiar beach before keeping a scheduled engagement, I succumbed to an ugly combination of sunstroke and exhaustion.
The former was brought on as I determined to undertake the nine week challenge that is Couch25k – a UK NHS-related App, designed to take you from that recumbent posture in the lounge to running a healthy 5km in 30 minutes, all by encouraging you to complete a doable three-sessions-a-week. I have already been thwarted not once, not twice, but three times in this endeavour: first, by a bout of Covid in January, then by mysteriously twisting my knee – despite moving in a steady and consistent forward trajectory – and finally by a heavy cold that knocked me sideways for several days. With just two runs to go before I ‘graduated’, I was determined to cross the final tape; but no, it was not to be. I more or less managed the penultimate run, but the early morning South African sun and lack of head gear caught me out. I have no idea how long it will take me to get back to that final challenge and/or whether it’s wise to simply push out all the stops and go for it even if I collapse in a purple and asthmatic heap at the end, or to take a more responsible approach and plug back in somewhere around week 6 or 7.
My frustration has mostly been directed at myself on this occasion.
Exhaustion is the inevitable consequence of a number of factors, including carrying on through Covid as if nothing had changed, working hard on multiple projects, the emotional toll of cancer, a pandemic, various bereavements, family stuff, broken nights and lack of a permanent home. All very understandable, but very inconvenient and not at all what this individual ordered or expected.
More frustration and again, mostly directed at myself.
Avid readers will know that I am also awaiting publication of my collection of six children’s stories The Magnificent Moustache and other stories. I was originally assured that this humorous tome would be published in March, and now as the merry month of May peers over the horizon, it is still not on the shelves of any bookshop anywhere.
‘Aughghghgh!’ you may hear me cry, even from 6,000 miles away.
There have clearly been delays for a variety of reasons which need not concern you, gentle reader; suffice to say that my expectations in this department have also been seriously flawed.
The husband tells me that my expectations bully me on a fairly regular basis, and he is not entirely wrong. However, I refuse to give in to the cynicism of Zendaya’s character in the Spiderman films. Her philosophy is: If you expect disappointment, then you can never really get disappointed. It certainly doesn’t set the bar too high; in fact, it pretty much abolishes the bar altogether.
Somehow, Mr S manages to live life a step at a time, take things as they come, enjoy the moments and press on with provoking calm and equanimity. I simply cannot imagine what it must be like to have no expectations about… well… anything, whether it’s what’s for supper, a family reunion or an international trip.
How do you navigate the inevitability of unmet expectations in your life? Better than me, I hope.
Thankfully, I am gradually improving and feeling a little more human again, but am also well aware that my frustrations could well spill out on those around me and cause them harm. As I prepare for the first fabulous fortnight of holiday we have had together in five years, I am unable to contemplate it without some expectations but am increasingly aware that I need to manage those expectations with a greater level of insight and skill. Not only must they include a healthy dose of reality, but they must show a measure of elasticity which will not only cushion me from ambush by any lurking disappointment intent on throwing me off, but ensure that there is neither damaging fallout not painful burns from blazing frustrations for my spouse.
So for now, let me lay out my current expectations for your scrutiny. I go no further than to say that I expect we will both set off and return, and that we will have some fun on the way.
That seems impressively realistic and quite satisfactory enough for me for now.
dancingthroughchaos 