Great expectations

A little contemplation on massive expectations

Expectations paralyse people and ruin things. It seems so easy, the night before, making lists of all the things that I shall do the following day, where I know how it shall all eventuate in a sequence of ease and contentment and calm repose. My perfect vision of a productive existence, a logical sequence of events, an easy morning, perhaps a coffee and a jog, a catch-up with a friend, some writing, some reading, some dinner and a movie- how could it be any easier?

Salmon swim against the current. That’s relevant, right?

Then it comes to the crunch: the slippery pressure of time, sapping the bottom out from under you,  you oversleep, responding to emails take up precious minutes you were not prepared to sacrifice, the minutes run into hours, and the possibility of that perfect morning, the fruition of my splendid vision of perfection, cannot stand up against the sheer obstinacy of the millions of little hot-headed irregularities which REFUSE TO SUBMIT.

The toast that burnt, the text messages which refuses to send, the meeting that falls through: It has all failed me and I feel like Thatcher in that scene from the Iron Lady screaming “COWARDS! COWARDS!” at all the men in her office because the pen doesn’t work or the bill hasn’t been drafted right or something. “I should send you to hospital if you keep producing work like this” I think she says condescendingly to one of her ministers, in the same scene.

 

You have to go with change, make it your best friend (I heard that delightful phrase in a Holden electric car commercial). You must submit, and then, in losing yourself, you might find that there is no loss, and that you can continue. You find that you and IT, the chaos, can co-exist.

In the meantime, I shall busy myself with some mechanical, mindless, repetitive activity. For it alone can distract me from the pressure of those terrifying possibilities, too many possibilities: the awful pressure of the expectation is creeping up again- tomorrow stretches out before me, and there is so much to do.

*Streep as Thatcher makes me happy so just deal with it

*Notice that I’ve chosen not to implicate Dickens “Great Expectations” in anyway in this post which shares the title- although, you might care that Miriam Margoyles is still performing Dickens. Check that out here.

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