Anticipation

Anticipation. Carly Simon’s hit song tells of the waiting game: “We can never know about the days to come, but we think about them anyway.” While Carly sang about a romantic relationship, the drawn-out “an-ti-ci-pa-a-tion” is a common characteristic of humanity. We wait, with excitement or dread, for something to happen.

Standing silently on my bed, staring out into the winter sky, my eyes strained in anticipation for just one sight of Santa Claus. If only my eyes hadn’t gotten so sleepy, the five-year-old would have witnessed the arrival of the jolly old elf himself. I’d been waiting so long . . . 

By November 1, 1971, when Carly’s album was released, my anxious anticipation of Christmas Eve had diminished considerably. I was beginning to understand Stephen Davis’ belief that “nobody has any idea of what’s going on or what’s going to happen.” I didn’t know the twists and turns my life would take, whether I’d ever marry or have children of my own, or how smitten a grandmother I might be one day. That was all in the future, and at sixteen, I was wasn’t yet obsessing over my life’s path.

The past week or so, almost fifty years later, Carly’s “A” word was bouncing around my head again, making me a little bit crazy. Will the Cavs finally win a game in this young season? (Yep, one win to date). Would Hue Jackson get fired by the Browns? (Yes, joining the Cavs’ Tyron Lue and now Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III). Will the rain hold off so we can rake leaves before the snow falls? (So far, so good). 

One of the worrying questions that gnaws at me as I look to the daily news is, “where will the next mass shooting occur?” On Thursday morning, the answer came again: Thousand Oaks, California, rated the third safest city in the country by Niche. Random, senseless killings crowd our newsfeeds, and I hate the sense of dread I have over the questions of tragedy. Carly Simon was right: we never know what’s going to happen, but many of us think about the days to come anyway. The other shoe is waiting to drop.

I’ve also been anticipating November 6 with relief, worry and hope. While I enjoyed seeing Franklin in a commercial with his owner, Senator Sherrod Brown (and my favorite columnist, Connie Schultz), and am glad I don’t have to worry about poisonous Chinese dog treats on the shelves of local pet stores, the political ads were making me yell out loud at the television. When you long for the return of commercials suggesting a cure for erectile dysfunction, you know it’s been a lengthy political season. 

Lengthy or not, it was a hugely important election, and I was thrilled to see the highest midterm voter turnout by percentage since 1966. At 49%, it is still too low, but it topped one hundred million votes, a midterm record. Waiting for results was difficult, and as the numbers began to trickle in, I thought of the candidates and their teams as they watched the screens. I’m grateful for their willingness to run for office, and (with a few notable exceptions), for the graciousness of their reactions on election night, win or lose. It was difficult to see one common message across the country, but Bob Dylan’s prophetic voice did echo for me this week: “The times, they are a-changin.’”

But back to anticipation. A sense of expectancy was “keepin’ me waiting” on a personal level this week, as our family experienced our first gender reveal party. Would the lovely Madelyn Simone and the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday have a “brudder” or a sister in March? They had the ultrasound on Friday, with the answer sealed in an envelope until Sunday night. I would have cheated and steamed open the envelope! But with the smash of a blue-tinted raw egg on their daddy’s head, we had our answer. 

Albert Camus suggested “we need the sweet pain of anticipation to tell us we are really alive.” After these many days brimming with anticipation, today I’m content to “stay right here” in the moment, grateful to be fully alive.