People expect me to be kind and sweet and compassionate, but what if they expected me to be something else? I can’t imagine what it would feel like if they expected me to a thief, or lazy, or dishonest. For me, expectations are usually good things. For others, sometimes not so much.
I can be angry, or what I perceive as justifiably irate, then I usually don’t care if you like me or not. I can be curious, or downright nosey and sometimes I can even be mean. Although I am old enough to know better than that.
The point is, your expectations of me do matter, but they don’t make me who I am. If I can’t be me, my image is not sustainable, it will falter and fizzle out like the hologram it is. I think a lot of friendships and marriages fail because people try to be who they think someone wants them to be. No matter how willing I am to change, or morph into something one of us believes is more desirable, it is never going to work.
As scary as it is, being who I am is the only pitcher that’s going to hold water in the long run and it doesn’t matter if I am a beautiful Irish Crystal pitcher, or a sturdy folk art one, I am perfect and beautiful exactly as I am. If I want to hone a few rough places off, or wash and shine it up, that’s fine, but I can’t run around trying to be something else. I’ll only end up being dropped and broken into a million little pieces.
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