Almost, but not quite

Yesterday there was the prediction of snow, or at least sleet and freezing rain, starting overnight and slicking the roads by daybreak. I had already pictured a blissful family day, with my elder son and husband home from school and work, and hot chocolate and books on tape.

But this morning is frigid, and wet, and nothing else. And I am dragging myself through routines that yesterday were no chore, my attitude low because of disappointed expectation.

My husband has a theory that a lot of irritation in life is the fruit of disappointed expectations. He is not thinking of the life-altering, big-deal kinds, but the daily bumps of feeling assured of little outcomes that do not happen.

He is a very chilled-out, go with the flow kind of guy, and after eleven years of marriage, I am still hoping he will rub off on me. Too often I build houses of cards of ifs and maybes, and then my inner three year old stamps her foot when they fall flat. Over things that are not worth it.

For me it is a discipline to accept the new day with an open hand, to receive and then to make what I can of what is put into my hands. Photography has helped me with this. I've read the books, I've practiced and studied, and all that goes into my eyes and fingers when I'm shooting. But the very best shots are still gifts, and it takes time for me to receive them and hear what they are saying.

I would love this synergy in my larger life, receiving and making, listening and growing, loving and working with what is and not falling in love with pretty sets of conditions on my days and the ones that I love. I suspect that freedom and art alike are found in that open hand.