Middle Age is a weird time. During the actual Middle Ages, the average life expectancy was 25. Watching my step-son graduate college and my son head off to college, I remember the expectancy of my youth. My twenties. 25 was a time when all my life was a head of me and possibilities were endless. Funny to imagine that age as the end of life back in the day, and now the beginning of it all. I have lived several different versions of life since I was 25. Lots of my dreams did come to fruition. Career, adventure, children, marriage. Check. But man, this mid-life thing is confusing. I sit on my porch this evening wondering. What is most important at this time in my life?
I sit and rock in my chair, looking out at my landscaping that has grown so large and abundant, far exceeding my expectations. I couldn’t have imagined that every small bush I put in would eventually expand beyond the garden boundaries, devouring the walkway and forcing visitors to step off the bricked walkway. My garden makes me consider, expectations seem shifty indeed.
I ponder, what am I expecting now? What do I want from this next section of my life? I’ve grown so accustomed to caring for the people in my world. Used to ticking the boxes and checking the items off my to-do list. I know that this evening is not rising to my expectation, which is funny, considering I have no idea what I imagined this evening to be that it hasn’t measured up to.
Perhaps I drink too much coffee. The feeling of being keyed up has become the “other” to my usual feeling of exhaustion. Seems I swing one way or the other. When I get that restless feeling, it’s like I’m running out of time. Wasting my precious moments on this Earth. Worrying that I will look back and see I missed something. The exhaustion comes when I give up on trying. When I stop trying to make sense of it all, to find my way, and to do all that is expected of me. And don’t tell me that the expectations of others is not real. If you think that, you haven’t walked in my shoes.
Expectation:
a strong belief that something will happen or be the case in the future.
That’s the funny thing about expectations, the definition doesn’t leave room for how to set what the expectation is. And how to decide if you have met the level that is most important. Not to the world, but to yourself. If I fail to meet the expectations of others, I feel guilty. Whether valid or not. Yet it’s my own expectations I want to meet. But what is that rare Pokémon I am trying to catch? My son is so excited by the characters he catches with his phone. Their traits make them rare and special. I don’t understand the game, but his excitement is real. He knows which ones are worth having. Why doesn’t life come with rules? Clear definitions of what level needs to be achieved for each decade of life. What attributes are most special. And where I need to go to catch them.
The universe is not delivering the answers I seek. And my inner questions are too much for my family. They just want to watch tv and go to bed. Their expectation for this evening is refreshingly low. I ask my daughter, “Aren’t you ever tired of this show?” “Nope!” And anyone who lives with a man knows what his expectation for the evening is crowned with. So cliché and predictable, but true. And a helpful way to shut down this crazy brain of mine that swirls and whirls round and round, asking big questions and worrying until he helps to melt it all away.
So teach me my garden and sweet bumblebees…what is it I wanted from this evening? What do I want from the rest of this half a life? Certainly not the mosquito bite that I was gifted. But sitting outdoors in the evening, what did I expect?
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