One of the biggest things I’m trying to overcome, or I suppose, let go are my expectations. Expectations to succeed, to fail, to wake up, to go to sleep, expectations have been the root of many of my problems, and while sometimes it’s good to expect something, it’s never been good for me to have expectations of something.
The problem generally starts big, and then narrows to a very specific point, and it’s usually at this point where I find disappointment and resentment. I’ll start my argument on a large scale and then narrow, just as one may expect from the way I’ve set up this entry.
For some reason, I had expectations that this life would let me down. That there was something in the universe that would ultimately be the cause of all disappointments, of everything not had, or taken, or given or received. I thought that the only way people got anything was by sheer luck. Being in the right place at the right time, or knowing the right people to get them in where they need to go. I expected that others would do well, and I would fair well, but never actually DO well. As a rule of thumb, I never expected any marriage to work, any love to last, and thought to hold power longer than passing moments. I’ve set myself up for failure, because if things do go right, I’m still expecting them to be wrong, and end up missing the point of the story. If a marriage lasts, I end up not seeing it as a fruitful union because I’m obsessed with the notion that at any moment it will fail miserably. If a feeling of love lasts longer than two weeks, I would leave because I expected that it would eventually die, and why stick around for that. My expectations in the life department have been the cause of my let down, mostly because I never expected to be a life participant. Only observer. I feel I’ve started to experience life, and think it may be because I’ve quit expecting anything in particular of it.
I have a nasty habit of expecting things of people, and end up playing a mediocre god, the grand puppet master of all things human, of all action and inaction, keeper of earths grounded souls. I had expected my sister to see what a douche bag she was dating. I expected my agent to understand what an incredible pornstar I was and therefore place me in the contractual agreements with companies. I expected my mother to be perfect, flawless, and not suffer from the same disease as me. I expected my father to be perfect, and not feel or show pain when my mother left him. I expected boys to send me candy grams on Valentines day and received nothing. I expected to be head of the cheerleading squad, and ended up selling pot after games. I expected people to understand what it’s like to be a regular person trapped in hooker clothes, and ended up resenting those that treated me as a whore-even though that’s all I’d ever presented. My expectations of other people always let me down. It’s not the people that let me down. It’s my expectations of them. I have no right designing lives for others, and can barely even design my own. Which brings me to expectations of myself.
I’ve always expected too much of myself. Been to hard on myself. Strived for perfection, and when falling short, instead of saying “You did your best Jennie,” I’ve said “Way to fuck up another great thing.” and these are all just things. Momentary things in time. A test here, a lame painting there. A dance class, a job, a paper, an idea, an emotion. I’ve always fallen short of my own expectations, and it’s this shame that leads me to use and abuse… There is an immense amount of shame when you cannot live up to your own expectations. How will we ever live up to another’s? And what exactly are other’s expectations of me? This will never work. It’s like finding Nemo, swimming with one gimp fin, circles and circles like Tori Amos, there is no expectation of myself that I may ever live up to because my bar is always too high. The standards too unreachable. The bottom too…bottomless. Before my first time using cocaine, I refused to touch it because I expected to lose my mind once I did. First time I did it, I did it everyday for 6 months straight. An eightball a day. I am a self fulfilling prophet, when I say I will go down, I go way down, and when I put my mind to something, I accomplish it but I’m never quite satisfied with the outcome. Because up to this point I haven’t been satisfied with myself.
I have something very big coming up in the next two days and I’m trying to wash myself of the expectations surrounding it. In fact, I need to let go of all expectations regarding the next couple months, no, the next couple years, wait, my entire fucking life, because I’m tired of being let down by my own silly mind games. I’m tired of setting an impossibly high standard for myself, for the people I love, for the world I live in, and then being surprised and discouraged when it doesn’t all play out the way I plan. I don’t want to plan earth. The job is already complete.
My biggest task for this week is to expect nothing and accept everything. Life… is moving. Forward.