Have Less Expectation

Friends, why are we so hard on ourselves? Why can none of us give ourselves a break? If it's not one thing it's another. We should be over this. We should not have done that. We should be "farther along" in life. We should have pursued a different dream. We should have taken that chance opportunity. The list can go on....

I am post high school twenty years this June. And the ride has been so eventful. And it looks NOTHING like what I had anticipated. And it's been awful, and wonderful, and blase, and exhausting and exhilarating. Through it all I always point to, "Well, I WAS going to do that..."

It took a conversation with my son today to give me some perspective. The lad is following exactly in his mother's footsteps to his own detriment. He is so hard on himself. I tell him all the time he is doing well but it doesn't get past his head to the place it matters. His heart. Just. Like. His. Mother. He's watching and his mother is failing to show him how to navigate. He's watching, observing, and listening.

I currently feel stuck in a very hard place. I do not desire success so much as I feel failure. I absolutely fear being less than my expectations. No truer statement can I make than this: I could never live up to my own expectations. And this is the legacy I am leaving for my children.

The best words in the Bible? Jesus wept. (Insert somewhat chuckle-ly emoji/somewhat serious emoji) I take that seriously and weep periodically just for good measure. This has been one of those weeks. It's good to feel. When you've lost the ability to feel those hard times, you might as well hang it up.

I'm working hard. Yes. For what?

My path isn't what I expected. Does that matter?

My children are learning what they live. What am I teaching?

And through these thoughts, as they all tumble out in what may not be a logical order, I'm still being hard on myself. I'm placing myself in the category of failure as a parent.

And it feels so much worse to fail in this arena.

And I'm weeping.

I'm going to have to do better. I need to let perfection go. I need to fail more and find some comfort in that locale.

Realizing that, as I had to reassure my son, my first priority is him. A job I signed up for many years ago.

Let go to live more. To live better. To have more fun.

When I attend my reunion, I might not be nearly as successful as my peers, but I certainly have life lessons to spare. And the joy and heaviness of parenting two boys through life.