Hell are the expectations that we have for ourselves ever realistic?
I’ve always wanted love in a certain way, in a certain box, in a certain fashion. I’ve craved love to look and feel a certain way, wanted it that way so much that there have been times I’ve disdained the love offered to me in the past because it did not fit my vision. I can’t even say that I won’t do the same stupid thing if love is given to me in the future and I think it isn’t quite right in some way.
I can say that in some cases I’ve begun to realize that the love wanted, the love offered, and the love accepted while all radically different from each other have begun to come to terms with each other in my life.
I wanted a daddy that doted on me and considered me the best little princess in his life. I have a father that is confused and befuddled by me and my behavior. I’ve come to accept that my father loves me and keeps mementos of my childhood close to him because that means something to him. Do any of those three things match up with each other? Not really, but they are the facts of what I’ve got, and I’ve come to terms with them.
There are so many examples with so many angles of how things didn’t work out exactly the way I imagined. Yet here I am trying to come to terms with all the angles of my life. I’m not sure that makes me a better person, but it makes me a slightly happier person that can kind of deal with the fact that I can’t have everything exactly the way I want when I want it.
Slightly happier. That is what I get today, a little happier, a little more self-aware, a little less bitter, and a little hopeful toward the future. A little. Which I guess is better than none at all.