I've been a little quiet here, I know, and that's because I've been thinking a lot. A lot of that thinking has been about expectations. There was a time in my 20's when I expected quite a many things to happen just as I wanted them to, and, as these things go, nothing went as planned.
I was married before - a real marriage, not an "oops" marriage, with real love and as much faith and belief and hard work as anyone could ever put into a thing, and I expected it would last forever. It didn't. So I gave up on expecting.
My husband Paul was married before, too. I'll tell you that story another day, but suffice it to say, it had a sad ending. And so Paul picked himself up, looked around, and started living life, with no presumptions, no predictions.
And there we were, Paul and I, both taking each step and each turn as it came, happy to go wherever the path would lead us. That path, unexpectedly, led us to each other.
And suddenly, I had glorious expectations again. Nothing specific. Nothing grand. Just a comfort washing over me as I discovered I could expect a good life, even if I couldn't tell you what it would look like. I knew I could look forward to a life of adventures, challenges, partnership, changes, a lot of love, a lot of laughter, and many, many ferocious games of Scrabble. Paul made me able to expect a good life, to let down my guard, stop protecting myself from disappointment. Looking back, I realize a big part of me had given up, had lost the blissful ability to assume my life would be beautiful. Expectations are based on belief, and faith. So when I found Paul, and Paul found me, we were allowed to believe again. To expect.
So that's basically it. That's why I've been a little quiet here lately. Because Paul and I are expecting.