People describe expectation as a weight, a force that pushes down on you, crushing and debilitating. I don’t agree. I see expectation like the sea. Most of the time it’s peaceful, ebbing and flowing with the tides sure, but not doing too much damage either.
At least on the surface.
Underneath its eroding everything in its path, making the stoniest of wills crumble into the smallest particles of sand. And that’s on a good day. On the bad, it beats against you, merciless and terrible. Determined to drown you beneath its icy waters, it can rear up to the largest wave, smash you against the rocks, and then, when the tempest has passed, trickle away like nothing happened, leaving you broken on the beach.
I’ve choked on those waters, I’ve felt myself being worn down, been frozen by its grip. But I’m also still standing. I’m still on the beach.