I told Amy and Kayci my dream and how I've always wanted to go in, and Kayci told me that I should visit, that the library is really cool and she loved visiting there when she lived in Provo. I didn't expect to ever go in, but on Saturday, Shane and I had some time to kill in Provo and so we visited. I was really excited to see it finally.
It was nothing how I imagined. I had hoped I could look out of the western-facing windows onto University Avenue. I wanted it to feel like an old building and have eccentric quirks that usually come along with old buildings. In other words, I was hoping that it would feel just a little how it did in my dream.
I heard a quote yesterday while getting ready for my Sunday School lesson that said, "Expectations are disappointments waiting to happen." It's so true. I didn't enjoy the gorgeous tile on the stairs and third floor. I didn't explore the tiny art gallery off of the main hall. I wasn't interested in crossing into the new section on the east side of the building to see the main part of the library, nor the what I imagine is an amazing children's collection on the west. I just wanted to see something impossible. I wasn't seeing what I wanted to see, so everything it was - and wasn't - was lost to me.
For so long after my anxiety started 2 years ago, I wanted to just be able to drive to work without being scared. I would spend all morning with a pit in my stomach, fearing what I thought was inevitable. If I could have magicked the fear out of me, I would have. Every day that I drove on the freeway I followed a pattern that became a self-fulfilling prophesy. Whenever I would have a good drive to work, I didn't trust it because I didn't know if I could do it again the next day. When I would have a bad drive, I let it ruin my whole day, because my expectations were that if I didn't have a perfect drive to work without anxiety, everything was lost.. My overarching expectation was really that I could go back to being who I was before I freaked out, and that driving was going to all of a sudden become not a problem, and I could move on and never look back.
But life doesn't let you go back. There is also no around or over or under or even across. There is only through. Once I started accepting my fear, instead of avoiding it and then punishing myself for it later, my relationship to it changed. When I finally had some space in my head and my heart, I found a way through. I stopped expecting to be afraid, I stopped fighting my fear, and instead just said hello to it when it happened. I stopped believing every stupid, irrational thought that sent my heart racing. Challenging those thoughts, not believing them, was one of the bravest things I've ever had to do.
Life doesn't really meet our expectations. But that doesn't mean it isn't great, or that we can't hope for things. Acceptance is counter intuitive. But once I got brave enough for it, it's changed so much in me.
I'm sad I visited the building. Not because I lost the imagined interior, or my dream. But I lost the hope that that place existed. And I lost the ability to see the library for the beauty that it really truly is. Maybe one day I'll go back. I'll go back so I can see the tile, and look out the northern windows. I'll go and smell the books and think about the old Provo Library that my grandma used to take me to. I'll recognize that some things will break my heart no matter what, and that's ok, especially if I remember that I still have choices, that nothing stays the same, that most things aren't permanent.
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