The Waaaa-mbulance

Monday, I shared some of my recent thoughts and struggles with you. I’ve hesitated to write about all of that because I know that things could be worse. I realize that I am not a 10-year-old girl in Darfur. I get that no one shoots at me or rapes me on a regular basis. I realize that I have a job that pays me every Friday. It pays me enough to stay in my home, eat, and have a safe life. I get all of that and I realize that I sound like a giant whiny baby. Maybe I don’t just sound like one. Maybe I AM one. I should be thankful that things aren’t worse.

Still, I’m angry that things aren’t better.

When I was little, one of my very favorite songs was Lynn Anderson’s Rose Garden with these lyrics:

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden
Along with the sunshine
There’s gotta be a little rain sometimes

Even with this warning, I somehow managed to develop some expectations that I didn’t even know I had. For instance, I expected my life to be settled by the time I was in my mid-40s. I expected to have some degree of lasting professional and personal success. I expected to be married. I expected to have some financial security. I expected for the constant struggle to be over.

Last week, I saw this Shakespeare quote, “Expectation is the root of all heartache.”

Look at that.  I’ve got a 16th-17th century English  poet on one side of me telling me that expectations are dangerous. On the other side, I’ve got 20th century country music telling me the same thing. I sit in the middle, blithely ignoring them, yet railing at the universe.

That’s not solving anything, though, is it? Railing at the universe, I mean.

I started this blog to be a positive thing. Its purpose was to share how I overcame my head trash to lose all that weight. Its purpose was to share food and exercise choices. Its purpose was to share the knowledge I’ve gained and to offer encouragement to others on similar journeys.

I’ve discovered that the head trash, although greatly diminished, is still there. Like most things, the process continues for the rest of my life, I guess. I had hoped that this would be a set it and forget it thing.

Rats.

Take it away, Lynn.

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