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Sometimes life hands us the exact experience we imagined; other times it surprises us with something entirely different. In the past week, I’ve been reminded that while disappointment often arrives first, wonder can follow—if we’re willing to pivot and embrace what unfolds. And sometimes the alternative is even better than the original plan.

When Expectations Shift

Friday at the Washington State Fair, I stood before three of my creations, displayed together for the first time. That had been my goal — simply to enter and see them displayed. It had taken me seven years to finally gather the courage to display something artistic that wasn’t word-focused. Yet as I looked around at the other entries — polished, professional, award-winning — I felt that familiar joy-killer of comparison. My daughter, with seven years of experience, took home seven medals and a Reserve Champion rosette for her ten entries. I brought home nothing except disappointment at my lack of artistic talent..

I reminded myself of the intention I’d set: just enter. Just participate. I succeeded in that. Still, I found myself drifting toward the “woulda, coulda, shoulda” thinking: If only I had spent more time. If only I had refined the presentation. If only I’d entered seven years ago…

That’s the tricky thing about expectations. Even when we know what “success” looks like for us, our minds create pictures of more. The dream outcome. The ideal version. And when reality doesn’t match the picture in our heads, disappointment comes first. The pivot — to reframing, to gratitude, to lessons learned — takes time. At least for me.

Chosen Rest, Forced Rest

A few days later at the Coast, I tried to let go of striving, a challenge when my husband uses vacations as “planning time.” I just wanted unplanned down time. I lingered over a puzzle, napped in the middle of the day, flew kites on the beach with our daughter, got up early for birding walks with my dog, and even enjoyed my first pizza in a year. That pause felt indulgent, restorative, chosen. Necessary.

Contrast that with a summer cold that floored me yesterday on our first day back home, threatening our first annual backpacking trip tomorrow. Two naps in one day, most of a box of used tissues, and zero progress on my long to-do list. That pause felt like surrender, not rest.

Yet both offered the same message: step back, slow down, let go of go-go-go control. Whether I choose the pause or my body chooses it for me, the result is the same. The world keeps turning, and I find space to recover. My desire is to create and hold boundaries that support rest, even if it means telling my husband I need space before I charge forward with our next business goals.

Pivoting on the Trail

And then came the backpacking permits. My husband drove up to Marblemount last night, determined to secure an overnight camping spot in the North Cascades National Park, one of the most beautiful parks in the United States. And one of the most popular. Our dream had been to hike up to Sahale Arm and Cascade Pass for an overnight — jaw-dropping views, camera gear in tow, a once-in-a-lifetime family trip.

Instead, we got a permit for a less-scenic site, with extra mileage and no glacier panorama.

At first, disappointment again. The best-case scenario, a walk-in overnight permit, was gone. Multiple-day backpackers had filled all the spots. But once I loosened my grip on that ideal version, I saw other possibilities:

• We wouldn’t need to carry a heavy bear canister as the lower campsite has bear vaults for food.
• We wouldn’t need to travel across scree, which my daughter finds exhausting.
• We’d still get to sleep under the stars in the North Cascades National Park.
• Our daughter would have her first adult backpacking experience (it’s been many years), complete with freeze-dried mac and cheese, candy bars, and maybe even a dunk in Doubtful Lake.

My husband did the very best he could with what was available. And together, we will make it the best — and only — backpacking trip we take this summer.

Lessons in Letting Go

Across these three events — the Fair, the Coast (and cold), the backpacking permit — the same lesson threads through: life rarely unfolds as we script it. Thank goodness! By pivoting, we set ourselves up for a unique experience that could be even better than the original plan — because it’s OURS, and not a duplicate of what everyone else does.

• Sometimes we measure ourselves against others and forget our own milestones.
• Sometimes rest feels luxurious, sometimes forced — but always necessary.
• Sometimes plans shift, not because we did anything wrong, but because elements outside our control don’t align the way we’d hoped.

Disappointment first, pivot second. That seems to be my pattern. Maybe it’s human nature. But with practice, the pivot feels like it comes much quicker. Something my spiritual coach, Tama Kieves, would call “a miracle”. Not the events themselves, but how quickly I’ve gotten at pivoting and seeing the positives.

Takeaways

When my daughter looks back on this final week of summer before her senior year at University, I hope she remembers her reserve rosette and ten entries in the fair. Flying kites on the beach. Laughter in the tent, food she wouldn’t eat at home, and the beauty of wild places. She won’t care that it wasn’t our intended destination, Sahale Glacier. She’ll remember that we were together as a family, making the most of our experience.

And maybe that’s the real ribbon worth winning: learning how to loosen our grip on “ideal” so we can fully embrace what is. To pivot faster and make every moment count. And to recognize the joy in showing up, participating, and being willing to go with the flow.