I don’t know if I have that quote right, but that’s how I remember it. That’s how I say to myself almost daily.
Yesterday I went to the grocery store and watched a woman leave her cart right in front of another car and drive away. Our store isn’t that big. And the parking lot is littered with those little cart huts (ports). But she dumped it in front of a car that was closest to her and drove away.
Here’s what immediately went through my head. Oh, you’re a cheater. Not like a big-time-bad-check-writing-identity thief… but you’re a I’ll get away with it gal.
I guarantee you that she doesn’t stop fully at stop signs. I’ll put money down that when she sees a pedestrian at a cross-walk – she keeps driving. I bet you she hovers over the toilet in public bathrooms and ruins it for the rest of us. Is she a bad person? Who knows. Is she a mini-cheater? Absolutely.
That may be too harsh. Too judgmental. I think if I was really to dive in I’d use words like entitled, selfish, or rude. Like the world owes her something. But that could be over the top. Who knows, maybe she was in a hurry. Maybe she volunteers with sick children or puppies and she was rushing to an emergency.
But I know people that volunteer with sick children and puppies. They live the value of “exist for others”. They worry about the other person. The person that comes after them. They would put the cart back where it belonged. They stop for pedestrians. They wipe the seat off. You get it. How they do anything is how they do everything.
That other lady is short-cut city.
Short-cuts are not all bad. I like short-cuts. I’m not saying I’m a saint. I am fully human. Failing daily as proof. But I keep that phrase in mind as I go about my day. No task is too small to not do right. No action is too small to not do right. Specifically when it impacts someone else.
Could she be a swell gal and just have had a sloppy moment? Sure. Could she also be the gal ok with throwing gum wrappers out her window? Probably.
It’s hard not to start painting a complete picture of her based on that action. Which is not good. I fully acknowledge that this is not the trait that I’m the most proud of. I’m working on amending it. But it’s hard.
I’m assuming because this chick blatantly didn’t do the right thing in public, in private she’s probably worse!
I know this little diatribe says more about me then her. But I can’t help it. This is what’s in my brain. Rattling around fighting for space with Bravo shows.
Little actions matter. Take the cart back to where it belongs. Do the thing that’s a little harder. You are not alone in the world. In this town. In this parking lot. Every little action matters.
Do you agree? Am I nuts? What phrases and quotes rattle in your mind daily? I can’t be the only one.
A couple of nights ago I met some friends for dinner at a cute Italian restaurant that we’ve been to often. We sat outside in perfect weather under lemon trees and twinkle lights.
The day at work was rough and busy and I was thrilled to be done and away from the computer.
When we were seated we commented that the place was packed. Lots of big tables and parties going on. Good for them. Back to life.
I was with some dear friends, one of whom, Gail, is a teacher in a hard district a few towns away. She’s a spit fire of energy and cracked us up all night with stories from her classes.
It turned out that the place was so busy it took us almost 3 hours to get through our dinner. Our waiter hurriedly came to say hi, gave us the specials and that was it for 15 min. Poof. Gone. When he came back we ordered a salad to share as an appetizer, and he quickly vanished again. We had to flag him down to get silverware. We had to remind him after our salads that he never took our entree order. He never once refilled our water. He dropped a bread basket but no butter or oil.
I was less than pleased. You know I like my bread.
The company was fantastic and we were having a wonderful time. But ofcourse I was also seething quietly about the service.
To be fair we weren’t the only table ignored. The tables around us had the same issues. And to also be fair, we watched the waiter hustle and try to cover all the tables he was serving.
But ofcourse I was still pissy. I wanted my fork. I wanted a napkin. I wanted my butter. Waaaaaa, cried the baby.
After we finally got our meal, which was delicious, and the restaurant began clearing out a bit, he finally came over to check on us. He also acknowledged how slow everything had been and thanked us for our patience.
I don’t know if I would have said something, but I know I would have been quiet and had a puss face on. It’s something I’m working on.
My puss face. Or as my husband says,” THE face”. You’ve probably only seen my smile face. My happy face. My laughing face. Which is the one I have on for the majority of the time. But those that love me have seen the other one.
Before any of that could happen, Gail looked him straight in the eye and said,” wow you are really busy tonight. You need help out here.” As she said it, I watched his shoulders drop and a soft smile drape his face. “Thank you for saying that” he said. He went on to explain that they are completely swamped and can’t find people to work. That was his 7th day of working both shifts.
Like a good teacher, Gail steered us (me) into the right behavior. I sat there thankful that her kindness and humanness made up for my puss face.
I took a deep breath and joined in on chatting with him. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t see what she saw. A person just doing the best they can. Someone hustling to cover a room too big for one person to cover.
I’m sharing this to keep me accountable. Sharing this to say it’s ok to be wrong and course correct. But I’m really sharing this so we can have a Gail appreciation moment today.
Let’s all be like Gail today.
Have a good day everyone and put your puss faces away.
I just went to the grocery store this weekend. On the door it says, “If you HAVEN’T been vaccinated, we RECOMMEND a mask”. But when you enter the store there’s a sign that says, “Don’t forget your mask!” – just like that. With a friendly exclamation point. You could also take the exclamation mark as an order, but I’m assuming best intent here.
Almost everyone in the store had a mask on. A few didn’t. Even the workers were a mixed bag. Some had it on, some didn’t. I ended up putting it on. Then I was in the pickle aisle and no one had it on, so I took it off. Then I went to the diary aisle and everyone had it on, so I put it back on. I’m losing my mind.
I liked it when we were all doing the same thing. Wearing masks or not wearing masks. This weird middle time is not good for me.
Now this post isn’t for those that believe there’s no virus or that this is a global hoax. No, bless your hearts, you can keep going about your day.
This is for those people like me. I know it’s real. I followed all the rules. I made a pod. Wore the mask. I tried to be as safe as possible. But when restaurants opened up slowly last year – we went. First only outdoor, but then slowly indoor. When stores opened – we went. When vaccines came out, we got it.
We have close friends that have lost family to Covid. I’m not diminishing the severity of what we just went through – but I’m also desperately wanting it to be over.
Isn’t it possible for me to completely believe in the science of it and also want to wear lipstick again? I’m just so done with it.
If there was a scale from 1-10, 1 being the folks who thought it was a hoax, and 10 being the people who washed their delivered groceries in the garage until last week – I’m a solid 6. Maybe a 5.5. My family was careful for sure. But not the most careful, if you know what I mean.
At the beginning of the month we had a family wedding where there were literally people called “mask police”. Worst job since Norton on the Honeymooners. They would follow you around and if you were not sitting – you needed your mask on. Fair enough. My entire family was fully vaccinated at that point but I did what they asked. No big deal.
Compare that to a week ago when many of the restaurants near us dropped the capacity rules. My husband and I did our all time favorite thing. We had dinner at the bar. They still had those plastic shields up, but it was great. I want more of that.
I want no masks. I want parties. I want to go to Shoprite without hyperventilating and figuring out which aisle I’m allowed to walk into. But I want everyone to do it together. Impossible?
I thought it would be easier. I thought I’d be ok with the “you do you” approach. But it’s causing me anxiety.
You know who I like? Airports. I like airports. They have a rule. Everyone needs a mask. Done and done.
You know who I also like? All the places we went to this past weekend on the Jersey shore. They had no signs at all. No one wore a mask. Not even the servers. So we didn’t either. And we were not sorry.
I like wearing a mask on a plane or a train. I don’t like wearing a mask almost anywhere else.
I cannot be the only one. Mask haters when fully vaccinated unite!
Today is our 25th anniversary. Our silver jubilee!
Last night at 10:40pm my husband of a quarter of a century said,” what do people do for their 25th anniversary? A party or something?”
He’s all mine ladies. Has been for multiple lifetimes according to some. Let me explain.
Because I like to throw money away, I go to a lot of psychics and readers. One of these readers told me that Joe and I have been married before. Many times. During many lives.
Really? Us? I loved hearing it and yet instantly doubted it.
“That’s so funny because really we are like oil and water” I said,” very different”
The reader took both my hands (this was way before Covid) and looked me dead in the eyes.
“Oil and water? No no, that’s not right. You are oil and vinegar. You emulsified. Transformed. You are perfect together” she said.
I cried ofcourse. And gave her a big tip. All these years I walked around thinking we were oil and water. Never mixing. Two different to combine. She turned it upside down. Or maybe she right sided it. She may have been a total hoax, I’ll never know. I didn’t go back to her again. I was afraid the magic moment would never happen twice.
So today, to celebrate this union of salad dressing, I thought I’d share some moments from our 25 years. These pictures doesn’t show the fights and pain and anger and sorrow – which are in between these happy moments.
It’s been good and bad and better and worse. It’s been everything you can probably imagine and everything you’ll never know. Thanks for letting me share.
How it started…
90s dorm room fashion! Denim on DenimHe went to an empty classroom and surprised me with this. I walked out of my class to go to the next one and he was there, waiting to show this to me. Creepy and cuteSo many questions with this one. 1) Why did we feel the need to take a pic in front of Walmart? 2) We brought a camera to Walmart? 3) Who the heck took the pick?
We graduate and elope!
May 12, 1996, East Hampton NYThis is where our honeymoon pic should be. But because we eloped so quickly the first trip my new husband took was with his best friend to London and Amsterdam. Every new marriage should start with a trip apart. NotThis was a year later. Our honeymoon trip to Bermuda. I look at this pic and only see my healthy, shiny hair. I have issues.
This next set of pics is called – BABIES HAVING BABIES (on purpose)
Kera in my big belly, our NYC railroad apartment Sure! Stand in the middle of Lexington Ave in NYC with a newborn in your hand. Totally safe. You’re in good hands baby girl! Jack in my big belly, Fishkill, NY
Since it’s my Jubilee (said like Elaine says fiancé on Seinfeld), I’m going to be indulgent and keep sharing…
Joe told us he was taking us to tour Martha’s Vineyard. In reality we toured all the spots they filmed the movie Jaws. I was less than pleased. Brussels for the day. We took the metro from Paris. Everyone spoke English. Ugly sweater contest that I won but my neighbor stole the votes (I know what you did Jeff!)I now like a beach thanks to this man. I also like an umbrella, a visor, and SPF 100.One of my favorite pictures. Nothing makes him happier than a belly full of steak. I think I had creamed spinach that night. Thanks for nothing Peter Lugers.
The years, the months, the hours. I remember every minute of it, and yet it’s a blur! From the missteps we made, to the mountains we moved together, I’m so happy we went for it.
So the last post was about unwanted conversations and maybe this is part 2? Or a prequel? It’s connected for sure.
I don’t know what’s going on but I’m finding myself much less willing to chit chat.
I’ve never loved small talk but lately I have no use for it.
Last week I joined a call early and found myself alone with someone I barely know at work. She started the usual weather convo and I just couldn’t do it.
I asked her how she survived Covid. Did she get sick? Did she know anyone that did? Does she live alone?
Let’s just say she was surprised by the direction of the conversation. I think her response was,” yeah it’s ok” before someone else joined and she was put out of her misery.
Maybe it’s because last year brought me all the feels. Sadness. Anger. Stillness. Joy. How am I expected to come out of a Global Pandemic and a social justice juggernaut unaffected?
I can’t talk to you about weather! We were just in a fox hole making banana bread to avoid the news. Don’t you have PTSD when you look at puzzles like I do? We’ve changed together haven’t we?
I want to know more about you. And faster.
Did you spend last year alone? Or where you trapped with your family?
Did you think it was a hoax? Or did you wash delivered groceries in the garage with gloves on?
Did you get a pet or a therapist or both? I need to know.
Are you like me, feeling optimistic and ready to party? Or are you still cautious and taking it slow?
I sound like a lot. Maybe I’m the unwanted conversation now.
I don’t want to sound cheesy and say that I’m appreciating things more and enjoying things more – but I kinda am.
I still don’t want to hear an Uber driver tell me his deepest darkest racist thoughts. But I do want to get to know my people more.
And by my people I mean the ones in my life. For whatever reason. Work. Friendship. Family. I’m done with small talk. That’s PC to me. Pre-Covid.
Some of you won’t notice a change at all – because we’ve always gone deep. But others I admit I can do better with.
I have always been a pretty forthcoming person. I’m a bad liar so I avoid it most of the time, which is a good thing. But I’m also bad about bringing up tough stuff. I have a habit of keeping things “light”. I want to change that up a bit. I mean there will still be time for vapid, silly rabbit holes about Bravo shows and I’ll never let go of Tik Tok – but it’s time for balance, I think.
I hereby pledge to not ask surface, generic questions. I promise to listen – really listen – not just think of a response as you’re talking. I promise to ask more things about you and talk less about me. And I promise not to take you for granted. Not for a minute. I’ve missed our time together and if we get it back – I’m using it better.
Don’t be scared. It sounds intense but it won’t be. It’ll just be Big Talk. Deep Talk. Fun Talk. Sad Talk. Real Housewives Talk. Anything but Small Talk.
Are you the victim of unwanted conversations? Do you often become the ear for folks who have no one else to talk to or who’ve driven all their friends and family away? Do you have strangers coming up to you, acting like they’ve known you for years? If you answered yes to any of these questions, come sit by me. I have a ton of stories for you. Let me share 2 of my recent favs:
Conversation 1:
Some quick background on this one.
We traveled for the first time in over a year. On a plane! To a beach! It was glorious. We had so much fun. We went to Cocoa Beach. I had many judgements about it prior to landing. Florida isn’t my fav (except Miami, West Palm, Boca… and maybe Naples). Orlando lands at the very tippy bottom of places I’d like to go. But some good friends invited us and I loved it. I was completely wrong. We stayed right on the water and had a magical time (no mouse ears to be found).
I expected a lot of mask rule breakers down there – I was wrong about that too. People were, for the most part, masked when asked.
In general my philosophy about masks and vaccines is consistent. You do you. I’ll do me.
Once the people I cared for most were fully vaccinated, I forgot about everyone else. Which sounds… not nice, but it’s meant to be more…carefree.
I really don’t care if you don’t believe in masks. I don’t care if you believe Bill Gates is chipping me (jokes on you, it was Steve Jobs and he chipped me on June 29, 2007 when he got me hooked to this little appendage in my hand).
I am the mama to two kiddos. Those are the only people I owe a lesson in humanity and science to. The rest of you are on your own.
So when I see an unmasked person in a store, I go about my business. I have mine on. I’m good. This is also my philosophy for most things now. I have no desire or inclination to preach or lecture to you about legit anything. Unless you’re my aforementioned kids, who I’ll preach to all day and they contractually have to listen.
Back to the conversation.
On our way to the airport from the perfect stay – clean beaches, sweet people – we called an Uber.
BTW – we’d taken multiple Ubers while down there and each of the drivers was a….shall we say….”characters”. But in all good ways.
This guy was immediately different. He hopped out of his car and announced that he didn’t believe in masks and he was fine with us not wearing one. We smiled and thanked him and got in the car. My husband and I are both fully vaccinated and so were relieved to take our masks off inside.
Then he started talking. And didn’t stop for 45 minutes. He didn’t even need us, so maybe it was less of a conversation and more of speech. His biggest issue seemed to be with gender identity. Why and how did that topic come up? Who knows! Morons know how to weave all their hatred together in genius ways.
He was stuck on transgender. What are we supposed to call them? He? She? They? He went on and on.
I asked him if he has a lot of transgender people taking his ride. He said no. He’s never met any. Hmmmm. Ok. Me either, I said. “So when do you run into this problem?” I asked. He ignored the question and went on.
Was it my job to educate him? I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I am still learning. I just googled what Cisgender means yesterday for gods sake. This is what I should have done. I should have told him what I do when I don’t know something about a subject – I shut the F up. That’s my go-to response. That needs to be more people’s go-to response.
By this time my husband had put on earphones and was taking a nap. Bastard.
I almost felt like this driver was waiting for me to get all this out. Or was this speech just on demand and he started it as soon as a new passenger came in? I didn’t know how to stop it. I thought being stone cold silent would send the message that I don’t want to talk to you. I just want you to take me to the airport. It didn’t work.
I finally took my phone out and started pretending to type. It worked.
Steve Jobs saved me again. Or was it Bill Gates?
Conversation 2
Yesterday we had someone at the house who needed measurements from our bedroom window down to the patio. I told him the master bedroom was the first one off the stairs to the left.
He smiled and said a friend of his just told him you can’t say “master bedroom” anymore because it refers to language used during slavery.
It does? I hadn’t heard that. None of the 1,000 podcasts I listen to everyday to make me smarter talked about that.
I looked it up. Turns out that Sears invented the term in the 20s. The word itself goes back even further. It has many many meanings and ways of usage. Let’s assume the worst?
So someone at Sears, I’m guessing a dude invented the word, was a massive jerk who wanted to embed a racist term while trying to sell sheets? Maybe? Maybe not.
Last July, a real estate company in Houston announced they would stop using “master bedroom” in their marketing materials. Many others followed suite and claimed wokeness.
Remember last July? Most of us just learned about institutional racism a month or two before thanks to a 15 year old. Now we’re equipped to start erasing words from the English language??
And I love that the “fix” is in marketing. Genius. Don’t worry about red lining or the landlords that won’t sell to people of color. Please fix the marketing lingo! That’ll do it.
I’m not saying it’s right or wrong. I’m not black. I don’t know if words like master ring differently to different ears. I just think maybe we should talk about it a little more. Before dismissing it.
Most importantly, does this mean I can’t sing Master of House from Le Miz? Stop the madness!
Also – why do I have to talk about this with my construction guy? I just wanted to tell you where to go to measure the stupid window for our stupid reno. Come on!
This happens all the time. People need to share I guess (says the girl who writes the blog where she thinks people need her to share lol).
I can’t be the only one this happens to? I need a resting bitch face. Although I wear a mask outside so maybe I need resting bitch eyes.
I can’t believe this blog is 9 years old. I don’t feel a day over 2.
I highly recommend writing a blog. It’s super fun. You get to pretend people want to hear what’s on your mind. You get to spout off the nonsense that’s rattling in your head.
Most days I have nothing to write about. Other days there’s so much to say.
I have a dozen posts in drafts that never saw the light of day. Mostly because they were awful. You’re welcome.
So 9 years went by. I took breaks. Long ones. But I’ll still celebrate the milestone. Besides my kids I haven’t grown anything for 9 years.
What will the 10th year bring?? More cooking posts? More skincare posts? More deep, intelligent thoughts about Oprah and bread? Yes. All of it.
Why don’t you write a blog? I’m telling you it’s easy. You can do it. I’ll read it. I’ll be your first follower.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for commenting. Thank you for all the texts and notes about the posts I’ve written. I love doing it.
Heard it yesterday from a not-that-old wise woman in my life.
It fits so much of what I struggle with sometimes. All the time.
Why am I buying milk (or milk substitute in my case) from the hardware store?
It’s not the store’s fault. The store has told me very clearly what they sell. Hammers, nails, tools etc. Why do I keep walking in expecting other things?
I’m not really talking about milk. Or hardware stores. But you knew that.
I’m talking about people, I’m talking about jobs, about relationships, and situations. I’m talking about my day to day shock and awe when someone or something turns out exactly as advertised. No surprises.
I’m an optimist, I think. Actually I’m a wanna be optimist. I want to believe that everything has a best intention and that if it goes South, well, that is not the norm.
Back in 1991 I fell in love with a dude who is most certainly not an optimist. He’s suspicious. Of everything. And everyone. All the time. He expects things to go South…daily. Forget milk. This is the guy who thinks the hardware store isn’t even a hardware store. I believe it comes from his upbringing. I wonder if we surveyed all the people who grew up in New York City or any city, we’d find similar traits. Last week a can opener went missing and he was convinced it was “stolen”. By who? Why? Where? Can’t find a screwdriver? Probably stolen.
In the last few decades we’ve rubbed off on each other. He’s become surprisingly upbeat. He’s opened up to being very social and outgoing. The person who would dread dinners and plans with people, now loves them. He’s rubbed off on me too. I’m a bit more skeptical and cautious. Not a bad thing.
I grew up in a bubble. The bubble was made up of carbs and sitcoms. When I left that bubble I went to the movies. Not to see gritty dramas about life in the mean streets, no no no. I went to go see every cheesy teen flick that came out. This was before rotten tomatoes started ruining my good time. I saw tons of rotten movies. Loved every minute.
So the part of my brain that should have developed some hard lessons about life and people and reality basically played 80’s theme songs in a loop. Vapid but happy.
Junior and senior year of high school were different. Different people. Different experiences. Carbs and sitcoms replaced by… well… other things.
Those are the years I started my slow and steady stockpile of expectations. A long list of demands from the universe and everyone in it. I wanted. I deserved. I demanded.
Sometimes it worked. Most times it didn’t. But I kept it up.
Those lists of demands only grew when I had kids. Oh boy did they grow.
Once they came I couldn’t imagine anyone not being completely taken with them. Who wouldn’t want to spend all their time with my angels?? Turns out…lots of people. Not everyone is cut out to show the amount of love and attention you expect people to shower your kids with. Most are capable of the minimum. But I didn’t get that. I loved the people who loved my kids. End of story. It was a simple equation for me. If you didn’t make time for them, there was no time for you.
It was harsh. Too harsh. I didn’t know that those people, the ones who never checked in on my kids, the ones who treated them like side props, I didn’t know that that was the best they could do. They didn’t know they had to do more. No one ever told them. They had no milk. If that’s what I needed, I had to look elsewhere. Didn’t mean they were bad people. It just meant they had different things to offer me.
Oh the hours of mental torture I could have saved myself if I just let it go! I’m not saying be a pushover. It’s good to have expectations of people and situations- I have LOTS of expectations. And standards. I still have a very high level that I need people, places and things to meet. But not all people. Not all things. It’s freeing to realize that my level of demands and expectations has a wall. It cannot and will not always be met.
Maybe that job won’t ever realize your worth? Maybe you’ll have to leave. Maybe that partner you have will never want to travel to Africa, go with a friend instead. Maybe we can’t expect it all in one place or thing or person. It’s frustrating. I want the all-in-one model. The Target, the Wal-Mart model. But there are no all-in-one people. No all-in-one jobs. There is no all-in-one life.
This is not revolutionary thinking. You’ve heard this all before. But I always need a reminder when I find myself slipping, being angry.
I have to take a moment and think. I have to make sure. Make sure I’m walking down the right aisle. Make sure I’m in the right store. Sometimes I am. When I’m not – I leave. There are other options.
Every night, I leave my husband downstairs to watch the news and head upstairs to bed. But I’m not really going to sleep. I’m going upstairs to be alone and dive deep into my TikTok hole. And I love it.
Have you done it? Isn’t it great? Synchronized dancing? Quick cooking recipes? This is the place for me. I’m sure my algorithm is totally different than yours – sometimes people tell me about some crazy video they saw, not me. My TikTok videos are a mash up of what they think a 10 year girl and her grandmother would like to see. It’s all cleaning hacks and babies dancing.
No matter what your algorithm- the one thing on everyone’s channel is the famous TikTok Feta Pasta! It’s all the rage. It all started in 2018 when a Finnish blogger posted this recipe. It didn’t catch on until this year when another Finnish blogger reposted – and all of Finland went mad over it. They ran out of feta cheese! They ran out. I mean, aren’t you glad we live in America? We may run out of toilet paper, but not cheese. Never cheese. Or wine.
Anyway – back to it.
Soon the recipe was all over TikTok. Every other video was someone making it. And because I’m easily influenced, I had to make it too.
The premise is so simple: Toss a block of feta, tomatoes and a bunch of olive oil together in a pan and throw it in the oven until softened, before mixing it all together with pasta and fresh basil (I subbed dried oregano because I didn’t have basil). I also added in garlic… well because garlic.
In the oven it goes – 375 degrees for 45 min or so. Couldn’t be easier.
Once out you mash it all together and combine with your pasta.
And… drum roll please…
It was ok. It was meh.
It was fine. I ate it. Mine came out a bit dry, so I ended up adding a dash of heavy cream. That helped. I also added a good bit of salt and pepper. That helped. And then crushed red pepper. Again it helped.
I’m really glad I added the garlic. Maybe I used the wrong feta? Maybe the Finnish feta is creamier?
Or maybe these TikTokers have never had good pasta. Or they’ve never combined pasta with cheese. Even Snoop Dog’s Mac and Cheese is better than this – I’ve tried it!
Whatever the case, I didn’t feel the euphoric high they seem to get from this dish.
I really wanted to love it. I wanted to be a cool kid. As always – not so much.
I’ve been off work for a few glorious days. I hope you’re taking some time for yourself too. It’s been great.
I started rewatching a lot of videos from my favorite self-helpie stars. Gary V, Simon Sinek, Brene Brown and even a little Tony Robins for old times sake. I’ve been desperate for positivity and optimism. My new favorite is Tabitha Brown (that’s yo bizzzness).
I love reading and watching their pithy, no nonsense advice. I can feel myself getting smarter and more zen by the minute. It’s great. Check them out if you haven’t already.
But this isn’t an appreciation post. This is a complaint.
Yes… I spent vacation getting enlightened and I’ve got some issues. Ok just one issue.
Each of them has a quote or a video or an article on why you shouldn’t expect things from others. The basic lesson is that the reason you’re (I’m) let down is because of the expectations set for those around us. Stop doing it they say. You’ll be happier they say. You’ll find it easier to get along with people.
Well duh.
Sooooo I’m not supposed to expect anything from you? Or you? Or me?
Fuuuuuucccckkk that.
Excuse my French.
Here’s the thing. I expect a lot from myself. I expect kindness, and patience, and tolerance, forgiveness, and so much more. I expect shit from myself. I am not allowed just to be my sloth-like, bitter self. No sir. You deserve better from me. And I know it!
So why oh why can’t I expect shit from you??
I don’t want to go around wanting nothing from people. That’s what I was taught growing up. It was MY job to make things right. It was MY job to make sure people felt good. And I was up for the task. I worked hard at all my expectations. I did done good.
But after all that I feel very comfortable saying that I expect shit from people. I just do. You don’t get a free pass. Ok, maybe you did for 20 odd years while I came to terms with the fact that I deserve what I give. All of it. And if I don’t get it? Well, bye girl. On to the next one.
This notion that we shouldn’t hold others to standards and aspirations is bonkers.
I’m not crazy. I know not everyone is thinking and acting like me. That’s fine. I’ll keep doing me. But I can limit the exposure I have to people who choose to not give a shit about me or the ones l love. I don’t have to eat their selfishness. I can bucket it. Give it the two or three minutes it deserves and move on.
There are people in my life that hold themselves to the same standards – sometimes higher! There are people in my life I aspire to be. That’s what I want.
I do not want to be complicit in this idea that I can’t demand the people around me be kind, and tolerant, and patient and demanding.
Why can’t we expect things from people? Why can’t we want to be treated and loved as we treat and love?
I’m no longer interested in passive, vapid relationships. I did that for a long time. Cause I’m nice. And I don’t want to hurt your feelings. And I’m a coward. Let’s be honest. I’m a chicken shit and I don’t like to make trouble.
But trouble is real. And if I’m real, I can admit that I expect things from you.
By the way, I’m not talking about birthday cards and phone calls. I’m horrible at both.
I have friends I don’t talk to often, some that I haven’t talked to in years. But they send a quick note if they hear things are bad.. or good. I get a text or an IM with a good wish. I try to do the same. Is it mandatory? No. Is it something I want in a friend? Yep.
I also have friends I talk to daily. My expectations of them are totally off the charts! Different than the folks I just text once a year. But I want them to hold me to a standard too. That’s how it should be.
What is this free-flowing, expect nothing relationship that’s so great for us? It’s a hoax. Doesn’t exist.
Everything isn’t easy. Everything isn’t a meme or a tweet. Real things require commitment. Require bending. It’s ok. It doesn’t mean you are losing or somehow inferior.
Expectations aren’t negative shackles – they are goal posts. There’s nothing wrong with wanting more, from people, from situations, and from yourself.
You’re not a delicate flower. And the people around you aren’t either.
I’m sorry Brene, and Simon and Gary. I love you all but I’m not buying the whole “expect nothing and never be disappointed” vibe.
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