The Slippery Slope of Expectation

I love inspiring quotes - especially those of author Paulo Coelho.  Little nuggets of wisdom to encourage, strengthen and remind me of the values I hold dear.  I read this one yesterday:  "If you don't care about what people think,you already passed the first step of success."

Agreed.  Being consumed constantly with the way my decisions or actions will be perceived by others would be exhausting - and has been exhausting when I've allowed the horrible insecurity to take hold.  Caring about what people think can not only be a detriment to creativity, courage and goals, but it can also lead to a darker path filled with bitter pigeonholing, resentment and finally, hatred.  The natural remedy to avoiding all of this is to stop caring what people think - makes sense.

And yet...

It got me thinking.  I feel as if expectation does play a role in success.  As a daughter, wife, friend and mother, if certain expectations hadn't be established, I would have found myself settling with adequate results or even worse, been okay with regularly giving up.  Basic manners were expected of me as a child as was trying my best in school.  Loyalty, honesty and virtue is expected of me as a wife.  I don't mean to liken the role of expectation to basic obedience (oh, groceries - good dog) but the simple fact is, expectation has pulled me through when I would have been just fine with giving up.

Being able to discern the difference between expectation and judgment as well as maintaining balance between desire to succeed and an empty need to please must also be considered. Caring about success solely based upon what others might think is not the solution, but perhaps rising to the occasion is.   

Seven Minutes of Social Media my @ss...

Seven minutes they say.  "Keep in touch with your community!"  Those who may help you in your eventual quest to market your novel.

Emails, Blogging, Facebook, Twitter, GoodReads, Reading Room, etc. 

Seven minutes a day?  #inmyf%$*ingdreams.

"Summer Plans?"

Each year about this time, an innocent question takes down and terrifies a fragment of society.  My society.  The Midwestern mom society. 

"Summar plans?"

Similar to the first snowstorm of the season, you respond with a bit of shock and unreasonable need for pot roast.  But as the snow melts, trees bloom and Twins play, the question becomes frequent in nature.  Based on your level of readiness, your response ought to roll off the tongue. 

Mine never does. 

Unless I make stuff up (which I've been known to do in a panic), I usually babble on with indecision or whine about today's over-scheduled youth.  Type-A mom's respond with glazed pity and make mental notes to email the name of junior's youth camp.  On the flip side, I've been known to start pandemics involving missed soccer sign-ups and VBS deadlines.  These moms hyperventilate a bit then make a mental notes to email me their favorite brand of chardonnay.  I suppose the purpose of this post is to ready myself for the reality that school is indeed out in less than 20 days. 

Our firstborn's unyielding passion for baseball keeps us on our 'Tripple A' toes well into August as we scoot from one suburb to another in a frantic quest to beat the youth of neighboring communities.  The quest is continuous and thanks to "oil refinery maintenance" (curiously close to Memorial Day, I might add) a rather expensive one.  But what the hell, the kid's a switch-hitter with a killer curve ball.  GO TEAM!

Offspring number two likes to keep things simple (apple/tree, folks).  A little golf, a couple sailing lessons and voila! he's spending his summer the way God intended... relaxed and sublime.  Just don't tell him about those summer tutoring lessons. 

Along comes baby, who's not a baby anymore I might add.  The boy is getting ready for kindergarten so I suppose this summer will be filled with a crash course in general etiquette (kid belches like a trucker and incessantly notifies anyone within earshot he's "JUST FARTED!").  Oye.  It's not as if we've given up entirely with child number three, but I don't care who you are - after the first two, you get a little sluggish in your stubborn quest to raise the perfect child. 

Such is the life of a Midwestern mom. 

Tonic for politico-phobia...

I'm a nitwit of enormous proportions when it comes to DC and the sinister world of politics, so my first instinct was to give a polite smile and nod to the coworker who suggested I watch the newish Netflix original series, HOUSE OF CARDS. 

I understand that most drama geared to any one subject is largely exaggerated (and generally blasphemous) to the category it claims to enact, which is why watching Law & Order with a lawyer,  Grey’s Anatomy with a doctor or True Blood with a vampire is simply bad idea.  So yes, I know enough to know that I can't count on Kevin Spacey's portrayal of Congressman Francis Underwood to be an accurate account of how folks on Capitol Hill behave…and yet…

The sharp reactions, strong justifications and fantastic skills in multitasking are only a part of why, I dare say, I wish it were.  I’m simply dazzled by the characters of this series.  The writing is truly amazing and each plot, whether it be sub or pivotal, gives its audience the accurate amount of angst and resolve.  

And I'm only on episode five.

Thank you, Netflix.  Not only have you found a new way to make me the slave to your streamings, but you are now offering me interest and insight when it comes to the sinister creation of a political villain.  No matter how or how often they let me down, I will cling to their redeeming qualities.

Felecia (Take Two)

Greetings and salutations!  (and just so we’re clear, this is an introduction between my new blog and me...) I have no qualms with bystanders and admittedly perform better when I feel their presence, yet as I mentioned, this very awkward introduction is specific to my new blog. 

You see, once upon a time (circa 2004) there existed a blog entitled 'Felecia'.  It was a trendy new way to avoid mass email and keep up to date on the doings of my friends & family and, in turn, bring loved ones up to speed on that which consumed my own life.  My children, mostly.  It was not simply a mommy blog but also a wonderful forum for a girl such as myself to rant about the miscellaneous details of my very Midwestern life. 

It is now 2013.  My family has frolicked to Facebook and friends are chirping via Twitter.  I've tried it some and cringed.  But it's time for another go and I dare say social media is no passing fancy.  Much as I imagined my reluctance to be eccentric or quirky, I now see myself for what I truly am…er… was.  A bitter technophobe with her head stuck in the sands of the (brand) new millennia. 

To you, social media, I extend this olive branch.  Sure, it’s an olive branch of defeat but here it is nonetheless. I will reconnect with my joy of blogging, and I will dust off the ole’ Facebook profile.  And as my husband’s sweet grandmother told me recently, “you know honey, if you don’t like somebody’s postings, you simply unfriend them!” 

Here’s to you Gramma Donnie.