Expectations

Monday night I spent a bit of time in the kitchen. I received a new cookbook for Christmas and seeing that all of my leftovers from the holidays have dwindled, it was finally time to put it to good use. I looked silly, I had my running shoes on with leggings a tshirt and a brown polka dotted apron folded over and tied around my waist. It was Monday, the holidays were over, I had all night and nothing on the schedule....ahhhhh.

The lima beans soaked all Sunday night and it looked as if I may be eating this dish all week…I really hope I like lima beans… This American Life played on my ipod while I chopped the celery, onion, parsley, garlic and tomatoes that would eventually be added to the beans and placed in the oven. With my ear buds in, it sounded like I was in a kitchen with 12 foot ceilings. Isn’t it strange that when you put something ears the sounds just get larger? The knife hitting the cutting board, the celery crisply cut. You wouldn’t expect it.

I was peeling the tomatoes and was prepared to laugh as the previous segment of Ira Glass’s public radio show had me laughing out loud in the car all by myself as I drove over the Skyway to I 90 up 196 to Michigan. I was expecting to be entertained, to learn a piece of unnecessary but interesting information. I was waiting and anticipating and wanting to laugh.

Instead, I nearly cried.

Act II of this weeks show was a recording, an interview between two friends. One friend who had recently attempted suicide and the other who was hoping that by listening to his own words would change his mind, realize what he was saying, and somehow from that would regain the will to live. His plan didn’t work, and in fact, some time after the recording was made, the friend again attempted suicide, this time succeeding.

Not what I was expecting.

It's interesting to think about expectations and where they come from. I mean, how do these ideas even come about?

When you follow a recipe chopping things up and sticking them together and baking them, you expect it to have a tasty end product, when you invest time in someone you to expect to have a relationship grow, when you go through rounds of chemo, you expect the cancer to be gone.

What if we were rid of expectations. What if we learned to let them go?

Last week I visited a candle lit yoga class where the first position was sitting on your knees with your feet under you and toes tucked -- for four minutes. This may sound like a fairly simple task, but trust me, four minutes is a long time. The instructor made an analogy early on about expectation. Simple expectations. Expectations that you have for yourself, your body for others....and letting go of them.

In that situation it worked, it created a peace within the body to let go of disappointed by it's inability to be in a certain position or holding a certain pose.

Dissappointment, is that what failed expectations bring? Sometimes...

But what if we didn't have any expectations? What if I had no idea if I soaked dry beans and stuck them together with tomatoes and garlic and onion it would be edible.

If I didn't think my body was capable, would I even make it to yoga class at all?

If you didn't think a procedure would work, would you just not try at all?

I guess the question I'm getting at is is the process in itself worth it even if the outcome is less or different or not at all what we expected?

Cultural Heritage II was one of my favorite courses I was required to take as I attended a liberal arts college. I took a section that was a combination of literature, philosophy and religion. This was really the first time I studied philosophy and I only remember little snippets of what we studied. One concept I held onto and stored in the back of my mind -- Kants moral philosophy of people, places, things being a means to an end verses an end in itself.

Is the process an end in itself or is it simply a stepping stone to our expected end?

I'd like to think that everything has a purpose, should be appreciated for what it is, can stand alone. But I think in reality, most of the time without an expected end there would be no motivation to experience any of processes, people, meals, conversations that we find along the way.

This is a very lengthy post and am very surprised if anyone is stiiiiilll reading my ramblings, but these are just the thoughts buzzing through my head. Even in my writing, I'm not usually satisfied by the end product, but gosh, all the epiphanies and realizations and discoveries I make along the way -- the twists and turns they end up being more than what gets put onto paper.

So, until next time...