My life is a novella.
It is undoubtedly obvious when interacting with other human beings is the most dramatic and disappointing part of my days.
They are passive aggressive
They call me only when they need something
They show up hours late
They remain closed up and guarded when we so badly want to mend things
So, what do we do? Naturally, drop to the floor and cry like any good novella actress would do and create drama about the behavior of others because they have done us wrong, or so we think.
But the truth is, my life is a novella because I have expectations. I have created wishes and unspoken notions about who people should be, act, and especially how they should treat me. It is the equivalent of ordering a donut and receiving a sad, leafy ass salad.
Many people in my life showed up as these salads in the beginning, I quickly found that no dramatic complaint made it any better. Flaky people continued to be flaky, stubborn people were stubborn, and rude ones remained… SURPRISE… rude.
It is always easy to hold on to the possibility that people can elevate their behavior to be better. But those romantic expectations are nothing more than a reflection of the disconnect between myself and my reality, from what is. My reality did not have donuts. It had salads waiting for me to, just for once, not feel upset when they showed up in front of me as exactly as what they are, flawed yet valid and truthful in their arrival.
People will never be what we have envisioned. Rather, nurturing a relationship where the other is free to show up and not be judged is powerful because it provides freedom and trust between both parties. Freeing people from our hopes of them to be different. Freeing us from our own frustration and disillusionment. Freeing everyone from the novella.