Anticipation

This time last year I wrote an article called “The Top of the Hill”.  It was about me turning thirty-nine and dreading turning forty.

Well, this week I’ll reach that milestone, and you know what?  I’m fine with it.  No big deal.  I’m forty!!  I’ve earned my gray hairs, spider veins, and skin tags!

Before I turned thirty, I also panicked.  And I’ll probably freak out about turning fifty.  But I’m starting to see a pattern:  Sometimes the anticipation is worse than the actual event.

It works the other way too.  Sometimes the anticipation is better than the event – like the vacation you planned for a year then vomited the entire time.

When I was a teenager, the thought of moving away from home was frightening.  I couldn’t fathom ever being ready to live away from my family.  But I did it.  I lived on my own for six years before I got married.

My daughter worries about moving away from home.  I tell her not to worry – that when it’s time, she’ll be ready.  Funny how that works.  Anticipation can help us to prepare for and accept what’s coming.  A wise man once said, “If you are prepared, you shall not fear”.

Then there’s cleaning toilets, ironing, and dusting – three chores I detest.  When I anticipate them, I am miserable.  When I jump in, get it done, reward myself, and bask in the triumph of a job completed, I am happy.  Why do I waste time and energy dreading things?

I hope that as the years go on, I will wisely remember to savour each moment and each challenge, looking forward – with the joyous, motivating kind of anticipation, not the worrisome, anxious kind – to what the next day will bring.

The Greatest Love

I wasn’t planning to write another “Valentine” article, but the passing of Whitney Houston inspired me to do so.  She was one of the few artists whose music I could enjoy song after song.

The Greatest Love of All was my favourite.  She sang it beautifully and, while I believe “the greatest love of all” should actually be one’s love for God, not for oneself, learning to love ourselves is still a message worthy of attention.

One Valentine’s Day when I didn’t have a boyfriend, I bought myself a dozen roses.  Some of my friends said this was weird, but others agreed it was a great idea.  I thought it was perfectly normal to show love for myself by doing something that made me feel good.  I love flowers and I didn’t think I should have to wait for someone else to buy them for me.

Sometimes self love gets wound up in our promotions, our looks, our possessions, our friends, and our abilities.  We define our worth by our successes and failures – how our children behave, whether we were able to lose ten pounds, how many friends we have on Facebook, or whether we made partner by the time we were thirty.

Love of self can be a tricky thing.  While it should motivate us to want to be better, to look good, to develop talents, to aim for success, it shouldn’t be measured by those things.  It’s how we feel deep down, when we’re alone, and even if the career, money, possessions, and beauty were to disappear.

Our self relationships can be improved with effort.  Smiling when we pass a mirror no matter what our hair looks like, telling ourselves we’re terrific even on a hard day, buying flowers if we want them, and remembering to look upward as well as inward.