As the holiday season comes to a close, and couples
everywhere go into hibernation to prepare for their pièce de résistance (known
to the general public as Valentine’s Day), us poor single chumps are banding
together for our one shot at remedying the past month of lonely strolls filled
with Christmas lights and chilly mitten-clad hands, left unheld and neglected.
Fear not, my single friends. New Year’s Eve is upon us. A night of mayhem,
midnight kisses and magic.
Always the best night of the year, filled with epic stories
and beautiful people. The perfect capstone to rest the hope and dreams of
another year…
….oh wait. It’s New Years Eve. None of that happens. You
only wish it did.
I sat at work in anticipation, thinking about how my night
would go. Clearly, I would have the perfect hair day, despite the rain and the
7am shower that would have to last through the night, my makeup would be
radiant, and my outfit the perfect compliment to the witty banter I would
surely be spitting. If I could just get this right, start my 2013 off with a
bang, then I’d hit the motherload. The pinnacle of what my awesome single
twenties are supposed to look like. They do it in the movies, dude. I can pull
it off.
This was my year. After ringing in the last 5 years by
shooting stuff in the country, I thought I would dawn my sequined attire and
see what midnight looks like when accompanied by champagne, some super sweet
hats and an outfit that can be seen from space. Oh I’m sorry….is my dress
blinding you? No, that isn’t the sun. It is the soft glow of 10000 sequins
shimmering with anticipation at how many compliments I will get because I look
so fly. Easy, my sparkly friends, your time will come. At midnight. When that
poor unsuspecting bloke gets lured into my clutches (errrr embrace) because his
retinas are momentarily rendered useless. We would enter into a coy chat
peppered with obscure pop culture references and clever metaphors, he impressed
with my breadth of knowledge and wicked cool shoes, I, with his poise and ability
to do the Dougie, while still looking like a Kennedy. It would be perfect.
Obviously…it’s NYE.
Though imagination has its place, mine seems to kick into
overdrive, setting absurd expectations to moments that have not yet come and
will more than likely never come to be. Planning conversations, dates, outfits,
meals, and interactions, quite possibly months before they are set to take
place, I become a controlling crazy person, trying to stack the odds in my
favor. My unwarranted expectations are the cause of majority of the tear-filled
nights that dot my past. And no night holds more excited expectation than New
Year’s Eve. You don’t just dawn sequins for nothing. They are fancy
pants….literally.
Since single women tend to be on the eternal relationship
advice panel with their not-so-single friends, I hear the stories of repeated
disappointment in Girl World. ‘He didn’t tell me I looked pretty when I got
dressed up.’ ‘He didn’t propose when I thought he would.’ ‘It’s our anniversary
and all I got was dinner at the burger place instead of at the new bistro I’ve
been hinting at for months.’ ‘When he commented on my new haircut he said it
looks good….not great. I wanted him to say great. He knows that. He hates it.
And me.’
So many unfulfilled expectations. Set by us. Covering our
hurt hearts with a cloud of repellant that leaves us broken and incapable of
the unanticipated adventure that could be lingering just out of our reach. We
create our own prisons on a daily basis, walled in by a false reality that does
no one any good.
I really hope guys don’t do this….because some day, one of
us is going to have to be sane…and we all know it’s not going to be this girl.
As I drove to Austin, stressing about the 43 minute delay
when the only place I had to be was the hotel, I realized that my expectations
will be the undoing of my yet-to-start perfect NYE. Instead of doing something
with the outcome at the forefront of my mind, I vowed to fly by the seat of my
pants, going wherever the night took me, my only goal, enjoying my evening. And
guess what? It worked.
Facebook is littered with resolutions, each haunted by the
ghost of an unmet expectation. Rather than resolve what TO DO this year, I am
giving up my own expectations. Giving up my plans for the future, in order to
truly experience my now, my current, my life. Losing the weight of a constant
need for control and gaining the unexpected surprises that God wants to bless
us all with.
“My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him.” Psalm 62:5
In the end, my expecation-less escapade turned out just
fine. Best night of my life? Probably not. One for the books? Sure. I was
merely one in a sea of sequins, a Richard Simmons-worthy gang, carefully
scampering down the streets in shoes as equally awesome as mine. I met some
people. Hugged some necks. Laughed a lot. Danced a jig or two. And gained some
memories I can be proud of.
When I drop the baggage of trying to create the perfect
moment and give up the reins for once in my life, its incredible where you can
end up. In a bar with old friends, the American Legion with new friends, or
sitting in the back of a cab being a friend to a driver who’s having a less
than perfect evening. Our own creations are so small compared to the path God
has laid out for us. My resolution is to get out of His way.
No comments:
Post a Comment