Expectations

When my daughter was in Hahnemann University Hospital in Philly, I would take walks around the downtown when she napped. Amidst all of the skyscrapers, along a very busy street, I came across the grave of Benjamin Franklin. His grave is right along the sidewalk. You could reach out and touch it. Arguably one of the greatest Americans to ever live, lying under a slab of marble amidst the soot and dirt and grime of center city Philadelphia. Not my expectation!

Since I’ve started my seventies, I’ve been struggling a bit with expectations. I mean the expectations that I place on myself. At seventy, shouldn’t I be retired? I’m not. At seventy, shouldn’t I be celebrating a fiftieth wedding anniversary with my wife? I’m not. At seventy, shouldn’t I be selling my home at record profits and downsizing to something smaller? I’m not.

I would sometimes get down on myself for where I am at seventy. I’ve been working on that. I have it better than at least ninety percent of the people on Earth. I’m mostly content and happy. My Buddhist beliefs tell me that desire is the cause of all suffering. But do I really desire those things I think I am missing? Maybe a little.

But I have a job that I love, except for case notes and maybe a few, not much fun, clients. I’m mostly happy being single. I can come and go as I please and have to compromise with no one. As for making record profits with the sale of my home. Yeah, it’s hard to put a positive spin on that one!

The lesson I am learning is that I am living my life, and no one else’s. My life is the consequences of the choices I have made. They were my choices and no one else’s. Every life is unique. Not just mine.

I am choosing to celebrate the uniqueness of my life. Celebration over consternation. Bring on eighty! Well, not so fast. Bring on seventy-one!