Anticipation is the only thing I can control. It’s the looking-forward-to part of life and I get to decide when it starts and what it means. It’s a year-round necessity that puts the shine on everyday things if there’s any shine to be found.
Anticipation is head and shoulders above expectations, which can break your heart. It’s even more friendly than optimism. Optimism is still an option, though I carry around memories of times when optimism stepped back and did nothing while I took my eye off the prize. No offense, optimism, but sometimes you’re unreliable.
Anticipation isn’t just for holidays, though I’m writing this on the cusp of a season that includes lights and music and champagne and good coffee and pie. Looking-forward-to is a practice I was admonished against in childhood. The adults in my house cautioned “Don’t get your hopes up.” They missed the point. I’d already decided that anticipation isn’t hope, though it can be hope-adjacent.
Anticipation certainly isn’t the same as expectation. Expectations come with too much pressure and require depending on others. I’m not brave enough anymore for a steady diet of that. Dodging expectations is a survival tool I’m sticking with.
I’ve always felt safest choosing my own level of enthusiasm. It helps create an interior life that I knew early on I’d be needing. Today if I mention something I’ve decided to look forward to and someone responds with “Isn’t it a bit early…” I flip the listening switch to the off position before the rest of that sentence is finished. The best part about embracing anticipation is, it’s mine and it begins whenever I need it.
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