“All you can control is you.”
I can still hear my dad tell my 7th-grade-self to calm the heck down about whatever drama was impeding my ability to function with any sanity that day. My dad has similar qualities to a southern, Hispanic, Robert De Niro, who was working homicides at the time, so I am sure my middle school crises really wrecked my household at any given point (note: sarcasm). I am also sure that I could credit that moment of drama to the same type of moment that I likely had the week before, or the one prior to that: immaturity, friendships, betrayal, heartache, or the ugliest brute of them all—expectation. My dad told me it was the easiest route to disappointment. He was right about that, too.
My parents told me a lot of things growing up, some of which stayed with me, rotating around my head at the most inconvenient times (usually when I didn’t want to admit that they were right), and some of it didn’t stick at the time but would resurface 10-20 years later when I didn’t know that I needed it to the most.
Expectation is one of the worst innate qualities that we possess as human beings, and there is no stopping it. We typically have little control over its origin, which makes it harder to fight the disappointment that comes when we are derailed from our desired course. Sometimes, the picture in our minds of what we think our lives are supposed to look like is the very essence of what troubles and unsettles the whole journey.
When I was away at college, I had a rough time at one point. I had just changed my major and was in a new program that pushed me in ways that I could not situate within myself. I was challenged to change my entire way of thinking, and not only that, but apply that transformed ideology to a style of writing that I had never been taught how to do.
That doesn’t seem like much, but it made me question so much about myself. It also made me lose confidence in my plan. It seemed like everyone else had already figured it out, especially after a professor humiliated me for my lack of understanding at one point. Then, I was so sick with a fever that I could not eat, focus, study, or sleep, and the girl in the dorm next to me cried loudly every day after screaming at her boyfriend about him ditching her to go to the soccer games. Every day. The best part came next, though. My boyfriend, whom I had most of my classes with, broke up with me over the phone from two buildings away. He may have made it through two full sentences before we hung up and he rushed off to class.
When my mom called me to see how things were going, the sound of her voice, comforting from so many distant miles away as it was, caused me to burst into tears. I felt out of place. I felt alone. I was not sure that I made any of the right choices. In fact, I was pretty sure at that point they had all been wrong. I don’t remember what she said to me on the phone. I believe it was something to the effect of “you just have to keep pushing forward,” or something supportive and encouraging. What I do remember is about a week later, I checked my mail, and there was a card. It was from my mom, which was odd because it wasn’t my birthday or any holiday where I would have expected it.
It had a nice picture of flowers on the front, and I don’t remember what the printed message said. All I remember, nearly a decade later, was what she wrote:
“I can’t promise you that anything in this life will go smoothly or that it will happen like you want it to. But I promise you that I am always going to be here for you.
Love, Mom”
Cue more tears. She was right. Nothing has happened before or since then that I thought would happen. I’m grateful for that most days. I think when we stop trying so hard to control everything around us, life can be really beautiful, and we can finally see where the pieces start to fit. I get the most joy that I never thought humanly possible just hearing my daughter laugh. I can’t describe one sound or song that comes even close to how happy that makes me. I also never thought that was even possible–to find such incandescent joy in something so seemingly simple.
A few days ago, my dad said to me, “You know, you can’t fabricate character. People either have it or they don’t.” I think we are all weathered by the ups and downs–the good with the bad. You know what life has been to you, and it’s hard to imagine the possibilities of what could be down the road. It’s hard not to expect what we want to happen.
I have learned to stop planning so hard. Stop expecting so much. Relax the grip you have on all of the part and particles of sand falling out of your fist the tighter you try. You can let your lessons find you without setting up camp in them. You don’t have to live in them to learn from them. Give back the sorrowful part and keep yourself. Look for compassion and understanding in people. Find out what brings you joy. Don’t be afraid to care. Love the way you make your bed, or drink your coffee, or the scent of fresh towels, or the linger of a good conversation once it ends. Most of all, keep some hope about you…even if you can’t see what to hope for or why it matters. Hope that what is right for you will find you.
M
Blue Withens 