…had been fine.
not great, as i had wanted it to be.
but not lame. or lonely. or sad. just fine.
one day in the mall (of all places), i was ‘playing wise’ and shared to someone that recently, what has made me way happier and more peaceful is my resolve to just stop expecting.
no, it isn’t succumbing to mediocrity. or being lame. or losing aim. it’s just that the biggest heartaches i have ever suffered have been caused by my idealism. by my planning. by my counting and placing. it’s the libran in me — obsessive.
but christmas. it’s just one of those things i spend at least half the year waiting for. i couldn’t NOT have expectations.
this one, however, started off kinda wrong. too cramped. too bustling. too full of the unwanted. too different.
i’m sure i was being selfish. but we all are selfish, one way or another. and i couldn’t convince myself that i wanted what or who was around on the one holiday that i treasured like nothing in the world. it was like looking forward to the usual simple warm pie, then getting something so darn different — like fruit cake, which looks fun and bursting. only, that wasn’t what i longed for.
so i have holiday expectations. bite me.
things did get better later on the 24th. more people came. the ones that made this particular holiday what it has always been. i did get my pie…
but really, the child (still very active, in fact) in me, had already been disenchanted. so much so that i have to write about it, or this is going to carry on until the new year.
am i being a brat? of course, i am. i should have known better than to harness expectations.
