All day I’ve been trying to remember an old folksy saying about expectation. “Expectation is the mother of …” something. I can’t remember what. Maybe I’m mixing sayings up. Maybe it doesn’t go “expectation is the mother of …” but is rather “disappointment is the mother of …” Maybe expectation isn’t the mother of anything, as far as old folk sayings go.
A quick Google could solve all of this, but I’m not going to do that. The saying doesn’t matter because I’ve already succumbed to expectation. I’ve imagined myself many times on this evening before setting off. I imagined I would more fluent in Japanese. I imagined I wouldn’t have unexpected medical hiccups just days before leaving. In short, I had the expectation that I would be more prepared.
But I’m not. My expectations of how I would be the night before setting off made me disappointed with the reality. I’ve felt bad about that, but now I don’t care. When did expectation ever lead to anything but slight disappointment? Maybe that should be an old folk saying. Maybe those were the words I were looking for all day.
I’m happy with the way these loomings have turned out, and I think this is as good an eve as any before a long journey. Time to wrap it up though, I’ve got an early call tomorrow.