Great Expectations

No matter if an event meets, exceeds, or falls short of your expectations – they’re never a good thing. Expectations, that is.

Even harder to swallow, when you have no expectations, because you really don’t know what to expect. Yet, still, somehow, the outcome is not what you thought it would be.

It’s been a week that I’ve been back in my home. Nothing remarkable or unremarkable has taken place. It just… is. I never expected that life would stop without me. I have, however, been in a bubble for the past 3 and a half months. I’ve been in a protective bubbled that led me to the illusion that maybe, just maybe, life had stopped to wait while I got back on track. Every day, I find another reminder of how untrue that is.

Some of the people in my life who transformed into these amazing beings during a time of crisis, have proved to me that’s not who they really are. Once the realization that things would go back to normal sunk in, they went back to their old selves. The expectations they’d created have not been met; and my heart is broken.

So, still, the question remains. Which is preferred? Having no expectations or having your expectations let down? Let’s just take it as it comes.

It’s Time to Say, “Goodbye.”

The unknown can be terrifying. I have an anxious anger living in the pit of my stomach and the closer Sunday comes, the larger it grows.

At 22 years old, I picked up my life and moved to a Big city – Chicago. Aside from a cousin nearly 15 years older, I had no one I was running to. This was my first stab at true independence, although I hardly had a plan. A job? Well, sort of. Freelance work that I hoped would get me by, along with some savings from my childhood. Never did I doubt that that Big city would unfold my plans once I arrived. And, of course, it would… three years later.

Now, returning to that city again at 25, I know I am, somewhat, established. At least, this time, I have a real job. My apartment’s nicer, neighborhood – more entertaining, circle of friends – much larger. Yet still, I’m terrified.

How have I changed over the course of the past 3 and a half months? Have I changed at all? Will those changes affect my life in any noticeable way? Well, we won’t know until I find out.

The question of return is not even a question in my mind. I have felt doubt from those who love me, but I believe that’s more their concern. Mentally, I know I’m beyond ready. Physically, I can make it through. My body may not be 100%, but that could take many more months; and I am far too impatient to wait any longer. I truly believe, too, that if I waited until I was 100% physically ready, I would no longer be 100% mentally ready. If I’m scared now, I can only imagine what any more time tucked in the safety of suburbia would do for me.

So, I’m going.

No if’s, and’s or but’s – I’m going. I love you, Mom. I respect your opinion, Brother. I’ll miss you, Grams and Papa. Thank you, Everyone. I’m going.

Let it Bee.

Our parents spend our whole lives trying to help us and guide us. Growing up, this is a necessity. As we move into adulthood, it may begin to grow into a nuisance. When that happens, what is a child to do?

Most of the time, I don’t want to make my mother feel bad. I do, however, find it so easy to lose my temper with her. Over the past 3 months, I’ve figured out that some battles aren’t worth fighting – we really do need to pick and choose. Why is it then, that when I choose not to fight, she picks to fight? Often, I’ve blamed our spats on our similarities, but we are both oh so very different. So, then, maybe that’s the cause. Whichever the case, I’d just like it to Stop!

It is human nature to make mistakes, so let us screw up. We have our own voices, so let us speak. This is no way reflects our love or respect for you; we just want to live our lives.

Even writing this, I feel guilt.

Are You There, God?

Growing up, I believed in God. My family went to church on a regular basis, and not only for the Big days – Easter and Christmas. To say the least, I never thought to question God’s existence. As I’ve grown older, my faith did not sway, although my efforts diminished.

After being in a tragic accident, I thanked God for saving my life. I thanked the doctors and the nurses, my family and friends for their support, and the strangers whose names I will never know. Once able, I returned to church. I prayed for the safety of those who my life had been touched by.

Today, I am still struggling through my recovery. Although I am unaware of the moment my beliefs shifted, at some point they did. At some point I came to the realization that not once have I felt God’s comfort or warmth. My brother explained to me, “You’re not going to get a sign, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Perhaps, at times, that’s just what I wanted; but I know better. Still, I find myself hurting, searching for that comfort we find when we have something to believe in.