“Supposed to” Is the Death Knell of Creative Ease

Friends, it is 12:45pm on Monday. I feel like I haven’t done a thing.

That’s not true, of course. Let’s review.

I got up out of bed. I put on jeans and a sweatshirt and peed and brushed my teeth and had coffee. I prepared French toast for Pearl with a birthday candle in each piece — much easier to blow out than 12 + 1 for good luck! I navigated some choppy mothering waters and even got us safely to shore (aka school) through some mild rapids.

I made my daughter a cup of coffee and talked about saving and budgeting. I greeted the members of four writing groups, some with prompts and some with an invitation to set intentions for a brand new week of writing and life. I emailed my ex-husband to work out some upcoming schedule changes. I washed some dishes and ate breakfast. I responded to some emails and messages with current and potential coaching clients.

Without sharing details, let’s say the aforementioned choppy waters had to do with expectations. How is the day supposed to go? How am I supposed to feel? How should it look (this life, this work, this age, this thing I’m writing, this special day)?

“Supposed to” and “should” are the death knells of creative ease.

We get into trouble when we load a thing up with expectations. Too many preconceived notions quickly become impossibly weighty, and some degree of struggling or suffering seems inevitable with that kind of pressure.

I was on the phone with a client late last week. I looked out the window at the steadily falling snow, not missing the metaphor. When I expect April to be sunshine and daffodils, I’m going to be disappointed and maybe even pissed off when it’s in the low 30s — and snowing. (It’s not supposed to snow in April, I hear myself whining.) But if I expect April to be whatever April’s going to be, then my chances of blowing a gasket when it snows go significantly down.

Setting clear expectations for ourselves can be super useful. It’s all well and good to be ambitious, to have big dreams and visions. It’s also a good idea to baby-step it by naming some tangible, attainable outcomes you hope to reach.

For example, if I say, I want to write something amazing this week, fuhgeddaboutit. I will spend a bunch of time feeling pressured, overthinking, and procrastinating. Not only will this interfere with me writing anything in the first place, it will most likely hamper my ability to actually start and keep going when I do finally sit my ass down in a chair.

However, things open up quite a bit if I say: By the end of the day (or week), I would like to have written. Period. Full stop.  Or, I would like to have spent one hour writing. Or, I would like to have written a shitty first draft. Any of these give me something to aim for without setting me up for sure failure based on a bar either too high or too amorphous.

A free-floating expectation is impossible to catch.

Like dandelion fluff (after the April snow, that is), it flutters away the moment you try to palm it. Likewise, expectations that are too rigid in their specificity can also be burdensome. Playing with some middle ground — being clear about intentions while leaving room for things not to go quite as planned — is a way to stay grounded and set yourself up for a sense of accomplishment.

As a mama, as a writer, as an entrepreneur, expectations can either be my BFF or my nemesis. I’m doing what I can over here to work towards the former relationship.

With that in mind, let me start over.

Friends, it is 1:10pm on Monday. I’ve been engaged in matters both domestic, personal, and professional since getting up this morning.

The sun is shining and it’s my son’s 12th birthday. In one hour, I’ll pick him up early from school and, if he wants, we’ll go get that free cupcake at Barnes & Noble. I feel blessed to be connected to hundreds of people who write throughout the country and world, a few dozen of whom will check in today as we begin a new week in various online groups. What a miracle, really. My wife is working on her puzzle and listening to a podcast in the other room, and the houseplants are drinking in the light through the south-facing windows.

Is all of that good enough? It really is, if I let it be.