When I was young, I was very idealistic. I wanted everything to be just so. Disneyworld-like, with dreams come true for all.
As I grew, realized that life isn’t always like that. Not everything that should be comes to pass. Acceptance became the norm.
No more idealism for me.
Distrustfulness set in. I expected the worst, even when hoping for the best. Cynicism took control. What could I, alone, do?
I dreamed of changing things. Making a difference. I worked so hard, but made little progress. Frustration ate at my insides.
Expectation looked only for the worst.
This colored my world, and it became the prism through which I viewed everything – situations both hopeful or hopeless.
At least I knew better than to expect good things. Better not to get my hopes up than to be disappointed – again.
Mediocrity and just getting by left me lukewarm and tired.
Deliverance came in realizing that, in order to keep my own integrity intact, I must do the best that I could, every day.
I couldn’t change the world, but I could be consistent in doing my part. My heart lightened with anticipation of better things.
Idealism had never left me after all.
It guides me still.