About two weeks ago I was pissing my pants excited.
I live in a small town and the food is – um – not very adventurous. I’d heard about a German Bakery Van that would be at the local market. And it was consuming me.
It’s run by a woman whose father had taught her to bake in Germany. Oh, the joy.
Think Pretzels. Think Brezel. Big fat chocolate brownies. Cheesy goodness. Donuts made with actual yeast.
Enough descriptions – I’ll put the picture that snared me at the bottom of this post. You’ll understand.
I was playing Food Tinder and swiping right on that scrumdiddlyumptious pic like a maniac for a good month.
The day arrived. We drove to the market. I was so excited I could barely speak – I’m not exaggerating here.
My taste buds were revving their engines and I found that Van as quickly as I could.
My partner declared his horror at the prices – he is Polish and is used to these amazing delicacies being cheaper. He said in “that” voice “I’m sure as hell not paying that.”
Secretly I think he was trying to send me a message. But – my antenna was not hearing anything except the voices of custard angels as I tried to decide what to have.
I got one of just about everything I could. And I cradled all 6 little brown paper bags in my hand as we headed back to the car.
At home – I made a little pastry altar in the kitchen and prepared to make myself a lactose-free latte.
This sacred pastry ceremony was going to be beautiful.
I took a sip of coffee, pulled a little bit of poppy seed scroll off and popped it in my mouth.
And waited.
Let the chorus of angels on my tastebuds begin. Bakery Beethoven was going to happen any second.
I sat – waiting for the music and suddenly realised I was listening to Chopsticks.
You see – I have eaten at amazing bakeries AND I do bake all of the goods myself. So I had placed my expectations of this poor woman up above the clouds.
In hindsight – not kind to her and not kind to me.
These were actually really delicious – but I had ruined my own experience by attaching all my expectations to one tiny German Lady and her Van.
I expected her to cure my 3 years of bland food in one go.
Those 6 items were going to fix everything that moving to the country had lost me.
And there we have one of life’s biggest buzzkills.
Expectations
I hear this word at least 20 times a day when I’m talking to people about their relationships and marriages.
And the crazy thing is that they only start talking about their expectations when their marriages are in trouble. When you should do it really early on.
We all have expectations about almost everything in life. And we need to learn how to voice them so that other people get a chance to let you know if they share them or think that they are something they can honour.
Learning to courageously and vulnerably share your expectations is a skill.
Once you learn it – life becomes a hell of a lot clearer.
And – it’s never too late.
I live in a small town and the food is – um – not very adventurous. I’d heard about a German Bakery Van that would be at the local market. And it was consuming me.
It’s run by a woman whose father had taught her to bake in Germany. Oh, the joy.
Think Pretzels. Think Brezel. Big fat chocolate brownies. Cheesy goodness. Donuts made with actual yeast.
Enough descriptions – I’ll put the picture that snared me at the bottom of this post. You’ll understand.
I was playing Food Tinder and swiping right on that scrumdiddlyumptious pic like a maniac for a good month.
The day arrived. We drove to the market. I was so excited I could barely speak – I’m not exaggerating here.
My taste buds were revving their engines and I found that Van as quickly as I could.
My partner declared his horror at the prices – he is Polish and is used to these amazing delicacies being cheaper. He said in “that” voice “I’m sure as hell not paying that.”
Secretly I think he was trying to send me a message. But – my antenna was not hearing anything except the voices of custard angels as I tried to decide what to have.
I got one of just about everything I could. And I cradled all 6 little brown paper bags in my hand as we headed back to the car.
At home – I made a little pastry altar in the kitchen and prepared to make myself a lactose-free latte.
This sacred pastry ceremony was going to be beautiful.
I took a sip of coffee, pulled a little bit of poppy seed scroll off and popped it in my mouth.
And waited.
Let the chorus of angels on my tastebuds begin. Bakery Beethoven was going to happen any second.
I sat – waiting for the music and suddenly realised I was listening to Chopsticks.
You see – I have eaten at amazing bakeries AND I do bake all of the goods myself. So I had placed my expectations of this poor woman up above the clouds.
In hindsight – not kind to her and not kind to me.
These were actually really delicious – but I had ruined my own experience by attaching all my expectations to one tiny German Lady and her Van.
I expected her to cure my 3 years of bland food in one go.
Those 6 items were going to fix everything that moving to the country had lost me.
And there we have one of life’s biggest buzzkills.
Expectations
I hear this word at least 20 times a day when I’m talking to people about their relationships and marriages.
And the crazy thing is that they only start talking about their expectations when their marriages are in trouble. When you should do it really early on.
We all have expectations about almost everything in life. And we need to learn how to voice them so that other people get a chance to let you know if they share them or think that they are something they can honour.
Learning to courageously and vulnerably share your expectations is a skill.
Once you learn it – life becomes a hell of a lot clearer.
And – it’s never too late.
Chat soon
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