Here’s the deal: You’re going to be in a movie, and you’ll be the main character, the hero. You’ll have a mission, the salvation of the oppressed or the swift hammer of justice or some other noble cause. Your mission will take you to strange lands and unknown territories, perils and beautiful vistas. There’ll be plenty of bad guys, lurking behind every corner, and even some of your companions will turn against you, but by your virtue and dedication to justice, you will overcome every obstacle and finally triumph, and there will be much celebration. Trust us, this template has proven exceedingly profitable for a long time (think Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Gladiator, WALL-E). We’ve already got James Earl Jones as the villain, Brendan Frasier as the bumbling sidekick, and Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence as fat black women. Interested?
Aside from some of the casting choices (which are negotiable), I would say I am. This is metaphorical, of course; the movie is life. I fully intend to live a life worthy of story-telling. Don’t we all want to? Maybe I shouldn’t assume so. But I will here.
But the topic that’s been on my mind lately is expectations. I came to Australia with a lot of them (although I didn’t realize it). I had it all figured out, what I would experience and what kind of friends I’d make and who I’d become and what kind of impact I would leave when I left. Well, it’s now May 17th. The trimester ends in about a month. I don’t have much time left. If I was to judge my time here by the number of expectations I’d met, I’d call this experience a failure. But I know it hasn’t been.
One of the things we love about our favorite movies (and books and songs and jokes and people) is that they upset our expectations. They surprise us. Yet even these unpredicted circumstances come around and work out, sometimes even better than your expectations would have.
One particular expectation I had was that I’d meet someone like myself here, and we’d hang out all the time and be best friends. Well, either I’m weird or everyone else here is, but either way, that didn’t happen. Instead, I was fortunate enough to find myself surrounded by friends who are more or less nothing like me (at least on paper). And I love them. Wouldn’t trade them for anything. And in this, I’ve learned more about myself and the world than I otherwise would have.
But the expectation I’ve been thinking about the most lately is my expectation of who I’d become or grow into through this experience. I’d heard that studying abroad is life-changing. Everyone told me as much. That’s a big burden, an expectation to live up to. In effect, if my life doesn’t change in these five months, I’ll have failed. I’ve had this fear that I’ll fly home, unpack my bags, and find I’m right back where I started (you know what I mean).
I’ve decided to stop thinking about my life this way. I’ll change how I change. I’ll live the best life I can, and that’s the best I can do. Months and years from now, I’ll look back on this time abroad and I’ll be able to say how I did or did not grow in this time, and that’s that. If I keep my focus on the day I’m given, everything else will take care of itself.
Then again, that’s an expectation too. I guess we’ll just see. But maybe we won’t. I don’t know. But that’s okay.
