Once upon a time, I would have thrown a fit. I accept this as progress.

The thing about family is that we all have some expectations built in. No matter our personal circumstances, experiences, or set up, we come into the situation with stuff. Expectations, judgements, bias. It's part of basic human nature in this societal construct. The word alone evokes such a range of stuff in our head. It's inescapable.

Sometimes I want to confuse the concepts of expectations and hope. But when I consider my extended family, I find those two areas clearly defined. Over time, I've probably lowered my expectations of them. A classic defense mechanism against being hurt by them. I tend towards expecting the not so great outcome. Most days, however, there's spark of optimism in me, and that spark is responsible for hoping that they will exceed my expectations. It seems that once in awhile it works all the right ways and I'm overjoyed. It also seems that most of the time it works out all the wrong ways.

History is a funny thing. It doesn't matter what my father, sisters, brother might say today. Today's words don't change sharing a lifetime together. A part of the puzzle that works into my soul are those people. Nothing changes that, not even death. We change the present, or the future. We can forgive, accept, move on from what's happened before. But changing it - no, that doesn't happen. It's already done.

And so today I find myself in that place where thing worked out the wrong way. My expectations were met while my hopes were dashed. And part of my maturity is acting out as a grown up instead of as a child. That's the expectation I have of myself. It doesn't really soothe that part of me that's quietly crying, feeling rejected and unloved but that is somewhat irrelevant. Only by acting as an adult do I preserve any opportunity to change the future.

For now, though, I'm just going to take a deep breath and try to move on. Sometimes, it's the only path I can see.