A Prayer For Expectation Addicts
Show up. Shine. Let it go.
I have willed stuff into being. Lot’s of it. Will will willing willfulness. And if you dared to tell me (brave soul, you), in the midst of my willfulness, that I should let go of my expectations, (gasp!) I would have gone stone cold, or snortle-laughed you off, or pressed delete. Because I thought expectation was a key ingredient to manifestation. Turns out it’s a major distraction. And I’m done with it. For now. (One day at a time ‘n all that.)
Which brings me to the present. Essentially, this is a sermon on presence. Because when you’re showing up in the now, you don’t have time to expect much. You’re focused on the give, not the get.
This fall I traveled to NYC twice in four weeks. To hustle. Name a major women’s lifestyle magazine. Name any of them. I’ve probably been to their office, in cashmere, talking about the meaning of life and how to be a fire starter. One particular meeting was, in my mind, incredibly high stakes. “If I land this, it’ll change, like, my grandchildren’s lives.” I don’t have grandchildren. Just biggie dreams. I lost sleep over that meeting. I prayed, meditated, worked with my advisor, rubbed my mala beads, strategized and agonized with my crazy sexy and outstanding soul sisters. Ready as I’ll ever be.
It doesn’t really matter how the meeting went (very well,) or what the outcome is (it’s just the beginning,) here’s the net gain:
Let it go.
When I left that meeting, something shifted deep in me. Something I wasn’t, expecting. Out went the adrenaline, in streamed the calm. It was a little bit of Samadhi on Park Avenue. I got it: lay down the expectations. Be done with them. Will? Never. She’s my paintbrush, my potion, my lucidity. But, expectations shrink your shine and weigh you down with worry and equations. I’m more interested in my art and connecting with what’s in front of me.
Expectation liberation is the new black. Style up.
A PRAYER FOR RECOVERING EXPECTATION ADDICTS
Lord, Shiva, Yaweh, Saraswati, [insert your own deities here] pimp my shizzle and deliver me to where it’s best.
Yess’m, Jesus, life, cosmic intelligence, Milky Way Magi, take the wheel.
I know you’ve got my back. I know that you know how intensely my heart burns, how sweet is the honey at the center of my center, how much I am capable of. And God knows (that’d be you) how game I am to collaborate with you to make good stuff happen.
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