Life just Laughs at our Expectations

It isn't just me.

I know this.

People get into relationships all the time when they are still in the grip of expectations and hopes that are simply unrealistic for the long term.

The dictionary defines the condition like this:

star·ry-eyed [adj. ] -- Having a naively enthusiastic, overoptimistic, or romantic view; unrealistic

There is value to the "starry-eyed" part of life. It imbues us with wonder and hope and great energy. All of those things are useful for getting through the difficult and complicated beginning days of forming intimate relationship with another human being. Let's face it, most of us are raised and socialized to be independent individuals. It is sort of our "natural" way to want the things we want in exactly the way that we want them. One of my favorite authors, Kathleen Norris, writing in her book "Cloister Walk," tells of a monk (Benedictine monastics live in lifelong community with their fellows. It is intimate relationship building multiplied) who described the issue this way:

"There are people here who can meditate all day and others who can't sit still for five minutes; monks who are scholars and others who are semi-literate; chatterboxes and those who emulate Calvin Coolidge with regard to speech. But our biggest problem is that each man here had a mother who fried potatoes in a different way."


It is a question of expectations. We all have them. Many of them are completely unrecognized by us as we go about our day to day lives. We expect the toothpaste tube to be squeezed in a particular fashion, and the way the socks get mated makes a difference to us, and the sort of sheets that we put on the bed are part of who we are. What we are called, and what we eat, and where we keep the tissue boxes are all part of our expectation set.


Those of us who find our way, along whatever path, to BDSM arrive there with all kinds of expectations. Some of them may be entirely reasonable, and others may be just plain crazy, but it matters not at all, because there they are. And, depending on what sort of process we follow to actually begin to actualize our BDSM lifestyle hopes, we may or may not delineate and spell out various of our expectations. Even when we make a conscious effort to do that however, it is next to impossible to ferret them all out. They persist in hiding in all the twisty, kinky corners of our psyches. More difficult still, because practicing BDSM most often comes out of a deeply rooted personal orientation, each unfulfilled expectation has the potential for feeling like a rejection.

Add to that the large, looming, inescapable factor which is life and living, and you have a perfect recipe for unmet expectations stew, served up with a hearty helping of dashed hopes on the side.


We are kind of there. And I know (because I read all over the place) that we are not the only ones. There are plenty of others out there who are struggling with how to cope with feelings of disappointment and deprivation because of the day-to-day impediments that life imposes on their fantasies and dreams.

Around here, it shifts back and forth between us. Somedays it is me, keeping track of how long ago it was that we played, or how many hours are spent on baseball compared to the time available for exploring what might be fun for us. Other times, it is Him, imagining younger butts to spank, and wishing for some newbie that He could bring along through that first exciting part of exploring BDSM inklings. Add to those divergent perspectives, the realities of needing to work, and needing to accommodate our assorted health challenges, and the demands of families and the wider community, and we find ourselves eating that "stew" way more often than is healthy for us.


I don't honestly know how to fix the problem of longing for things that simply cannot be brought into being in a real-life, practical, day-to-day, getting older ready or not, relationship. Intellectually, I understand that some expectations might never have been reasonable from the start, and others have become out of reach as time has passed. The reasonable, rational part of me knows and understands that my life today is not just better than the one I left behind to come here; it is good and happy and full in its own right. But it really just isn't what I was expecting. Go figure.


There's a story that we tell often in the developmental disability community (it serves as a metaphor for the experience of many parents when they learn that their new infant has a developmental disability). It is the story of a woman who had dreamed all her life of traveling to Paris. She had fantasized about all the wonderful things that she would do and see in Paris: about the food, and the magnificent view of the Eiffel Tower, and the wonderful art, and the pure joy of immersing herself in the culture of the place. Finally, after many, many years of wishing and planning, she was able to travel to Paris for the trip of a lifetime. She got on the plane and settled in for the trip, and all seemed well -- until the plane landed and she disembarked only to find herself in Holland. HOLLAND?!?!?!? How can that be? I was supposed to go to Paris. I have no interest in visiting Holland... But, there she is in Holland. Over time, she comes to find that Holland has chocolates, and windmills, and charming people, and flowers. Holland is a lovely land full of interesting experiences. It isn't Paris, but it is very, very good.


So, I don't know the answer to the question that kaya asked at the end of this entry on her blog: "then what?" I haven't got nearly enough wisdom to figure out what comes next. I am beginning to believe that it really doesn't matter that I don't have the answers. I suspect life is going to continue to carry me and us along. If we really aren't going to land up in Paris, then I'd best get busy figuring out what is fun to do here in wherever-the-hell we are. Since the foundational reality is that this IS my life, and I AM happy with it, it would seem that the questions and disappointments become really an exercise in keeping myself stirred up. I don't figure knowing all of that will cause me to quit doing it. Maybe it is a bit of emotional masochism. Still, I do think that trying to consciously focus on the good stuff is probably healthy. I know that some people quite intentionally look for what is good and joyful and positive in their lives and express that reality formally with gratitude. Perhaps, that sort of exercise might be appropriate for this time and this place.

swan