I fear the Day I reach My Expectations

I fear the day I reach my expectations.

I fear the day I look myself in the mirror, and say that I have everything I've ever wanted out of life. 

Sure, there will be monumental days, my wedding, my babies, my furchild passing before me, the start of new careers and the mending of friendships I thought were forever lost.

But will that day come in which I want nothing more?

In May, I will have only one year until I've completed a goal I set for myself many years ago. Graduate college. I'll be the first of our family, and I'm sure it will feel grand. 

Then we move on into big girl life, where uncharted territory and scary people want to hurt you lurk beyond the college textbooks and library we've come so accustomed to. 

Will I ever actually travel, or will I ever see the world from the view of someone else. Will I ever be tired of waking up in the morning and experiencing coffee on the patio where it belongs?

Will seeing my child grow and experience a life I taught them, actually be enough?

It's terrifying. It's selfish. It's heartbreaking. It's reality. 

It's a wake up call. 

Every January, every near death experience, leads individuals to make lists. 

Lists of 

what they want to do,

where they want to go,

who they want to be,

and when they want to die. 

Why? Why are we making lists? I'm guilty as charged, and I know where my list sits. In the back of a book, my favorite one at that, where I left it the day I wrote it, waiting for me to mark something off. 

Supposed motivation. 

I fear the day I reach my expectations. 

Because that's the day I know there will be nothing more to live for.