. . for I am the queen of unrealistic expectations.
Don't even try to hang with me. Check out my track record, average-expecting commoner:
--Never run before and sort of hate it? I think that means I'll train for a marathon.
--First year of teaching and putting children in daycare? I must be teacher of the year and mother of the year simultaneously or I don't deserve to do either.
--Think your sweet tooth might be a little out of control? Subject self to laughable sugar abstinence and then berate self for failure.
--Need to lose some weight? Lemonade and cayenne pepper anyone? I need 30 pounds off. . NOW.
Look, I know you might think you set high expectations for yourself, and I believe you--I do. I know lots of people set lofty goals, but I believe I have a special little corner on the masochistic market. I'm not sure why I do it. Sometimes I wonder if there is a deep part of me that believes if I'm not suffering, then surely my life isn't doing enough. It must be really hard to be right.
Stretching is good. Growing is crucial. Suffering is inevitable. But, it all has to have a purpose. I'm realizing, slooowly, that if I was as gentle with myself as I am with others, I'd be a much happier person.
So, maybe I walked a little on my "run" this morning.
Maybe I let my high school students watch a movie in Spanish sometimes because if I have to look in their vacant orbs of apathy five more minutes, I might claw said orbs out with my dry erase marker.
Maybe I eat a few too many _________ (insert array of sweets here)
And sure, I'd look better with these extra pounds stripped off.
But, I can't do it all tomorrow.
I can't do it all at once.
And I certainly can't do it all alone.
If you're after my crown, you can have it.
But, expect disappointment. Realistically.