Expecting

I’m not used to the cold, at least not in the last ten years. Which is good, since I’ve left the now-cold Atlanta for the temperate West Coast and summer-like Sydney. I’ve brought a few jackets, but don’t plan on wearing them.

A bit of sunshine, some warm temps, those are the Prozacs of the winter. A surprisingly warm day can change your entire mood, make the day full of possibilities instead of the requisite, “is it really Sunday so tomorrow is Monday and I have to go to work” days. Instead, we head outside, to run or to train for the 10k that we’re running on March 13th or just to get a bit of Seasonal Affective Disorder-preventing Vitamin D. Unexpected warmth…that’s the making of a good day.

As it is with relationships. We’re creatures of habit, of expectations. While expectations are needed (and lowering them is not an option, at least not to this girl), the very act of expecting causes things to go awry. It’s as if God is laughing at us, trying to dictate our life or expect what will happen next. Silly us, we should know better.

Leaving for three weeks throws a wrench in these plans…we don’t want to expect anything to happen, especially when in the midst of a semi-newish relationship, because that will surely send the universe and providence into a tailspin, wreaking havoc on what we do want to happen. And yet the lack of expectations seems somewhat pathetic, as if we’re eager to accept less than what we deserve. Inherent in a trans-continental (and trans-intercontinental) romance comes challenges…keeping in touch, keeping that spark, takes effort. I don’t have any expectations, or at least am trying not to.

So how do I learn how to except the aftermath of my non-expectations?