Great Expectations

"There is no greater enemy to those who would please than expectation."

- Michel Eyquem De Montaigne

"Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate."

- Henry David Thoreau

I was already planning a post today on expectations, and I now find myself skewered by them.

There are some very unhappy knitters on Ravelry and they are voicing their disappointment in Evenstar.

That is their right. It goes with the territory. I live my life, to a certain extent, in the public arena. With great successes, come great expectations.

And perhaps I had a few expectations as well. I expected to please 1000 people. I probably shouldn't have.

Expectations can be wonderful things; they allow us to dream our dreams and build wonderful castles in the sky. They can also take on a life of their own, if we let them.

This time last year, I was looking forward to the cruise I took with my husband in celebration of our 30th anniversary. I had almost as much fun during the planning of that trip as I did during it.

I thought about what to pack, what shore excursions we should take, which islands we should visit, what cabin we should spring for. I did research on line. I joined travel chat rooms. I did everything I could to fulfill my expectations for that vacation, our first in many years.

But a funny thing happened on our way to the ship. We missed our flight. The airline lost our luggage. We found ourselves in San Juan with the clothes on our backs & the swimsuits in our carry-on.

We sat on deck before sailing, with a lovely breeze flowing over us and the sun beaming down. We had drinks with parasols in them.

But DH was so angry over the screw ups that he couldn't enjoy the beauty of the day. His experience failed to live up to his expectations and he was unable to reconcile the two. I told him to relax; they would find our bags (which they did - eventually) and we should make the best of it.

Because our expectations weren't met, we wasted the first day of our vacation fuming & fussing, instead of relaxing and we will never get that day back.

The basic facts of life are this: we cannot control our world. We are not in charge. Sometimes things will work out to our benefit. And sometimes they won't. No matter how many precautions we take, no matter how much experience we have, no matter how hard we work, sometimes things just don't go how we thought they would.

We must not allow our expectations to get the better of us. Therein lies only grief.

A parent's expectations begin during pregnancy. This child will be special. This child will be a doctor. This child will always love me. This child will look like me, talk like me, have all my virtues, but none of my faults.

We bring some of those same expectations to our other relationships as well. And we find that people in real life are rarely what we expected.

Ultimately, all we can do is hope for the best, expect something somewhat less than that, and learn to accept the fact that neither we, nor the world we live in, are perfect.

One of the perils of living a more public life than in the past, is the very real possibility that people will expect more of you than you, in fact, are capable of.

As my business has grown over the past few years, I have found people who think I am famous. I have found people who imagine I live a charmed life, out on a real life sunflower farm somewhere. I have found people who expect my patterns to transcend the norm. I have found people who expect perfection.

And I have disappointed them.

In truth, I live an existence as flawed and full of contradiction as anyone else in this world. I eat too much, exercise too little, forget to buy the milk at the grocery store, have good days & bad days, procrastinate too often, call my friends too in-often.

I knit just like you. I make mistakes just like you. And I try my best to fix them just like you.

I asked a burning question on Plurk this past week: Do we expect too much of our artisans? Do we forget that what makes a hand-made item special, also makes it flawed?

We could, after all have a machine made sweater for much less money and effort. Every stitch would be the same. Everything would be perfect.

But it would not be a product of our love for the individual and our passion for our art.

And I think that would be sad.

I could set up my software, plug in the stitches & measurements, have it spit out a flawless pattern, which I could then try to sell as my own.

But what fun is that? It would be stale & lifeless, predictable & inert. Computers are very good at perfection. They are very bad at creativity.

Creativity requires the human spark and that human touch comes with imperfection attached.

Over the last few weeks, I have seen several people cease their creative endeavors, because they decided that the joy they got from creating art or supplying those who do simply wasn't worth the unpleasantness that occurred when they failed to meet someone's expectations. I have seen the pain of honest people doing the best they can and discovering it isn't enough.

Are we setting them, as well as ourselves, up for failure?

Several years ago, I struggled with depression brought on by my inability to cope with the truth: I am not now, nor will I ever be: perfect.

Anyone who expects differently should not buy my patterns.

They should also not travel, not have children, not get a job, not get married, not knit, for that matter. All these things, at one time or another, will not go as they expected.

I aim to please. Sometimes I miss. When I do, I pick myself up, dust myself off, and carry on (a little worse for wear, but standing still)

I think Thoreau said it far better than I can. Public opinion does not dictate private character. I work very hard at my craft. I love knitting with a passion, one that I share freely with anyone who wishes to join me.

I ask your forbearance for my faults and beg your forgiveness for my earlier outburst on the boards at the KAL. It seems that, just like you, I get angry. Just like you, I can have my feelings hurt. Just like you, I have feet of clay.

Who knew?