Unmet Expectations: The Power of Living (and Asking) On Purpose

My Almost Birthday Party

I’ll never forget the time I "knew" I was being surprised for my birthday. We walked into the restaurant, and there it was a private room in the back, overflowing with pink balloons. My heart absolutely fluttered. I looked at Josh, falling in love with him all over again, thinking, This man finally GETS me. I hadn’t even said out loud how much I dreamed of a surprise party; I just assumed my soul had communicated it to his through some sort of matrimonial osmosis.

I tried to be nonchalant which, total confession, I just had to look up how to spell, and I definitely didn't get it right the first time. As we waited for his parents, a tiny seed of suspicion started to grow because the room was empty... and we were still waiting for our "seat," which I convinced myself was just a clever decoy. Then, familiar faces started trickling in. I mustered a very convincing, “Oh! What are you doing here?”.

Josh gave me a "surprise" with a hint of sarcasm that suggested things weren’t going exactly to his plan. When the host finally said they were ready for us, my heart was hammering. Here it comes, I thought.

The Sound of Screeching Brakes

Then came the audible sound of brakes screeching in my soul. We stopped right outside the balloon room. The host turned to a forced-together seating arrangement in the main area and said, “Here you go! Party of 15!”.

Gutted, completely.

You can laugh I eventually did, about five years later but in that moment, it was heavy. I sat there, trying to maintain some decorum so I wouldn't pout, while my eyes kept drifting back to that room. I was playing out a fantasy life, comparing my reality to an unexpressed, high-stakes version of a dream I had never actually shared.

The worst part? I wanted to hold Josh accountable for not making it happen. That’s the thing about Blame: it’s a joy-stealer. It thrusts you into a million "what-ifs" and forces you to pick someone to sacrifice as a tribute to your unmet expectations.

Making the Shift: From Blame to Vulnerability

That birthday was a shaping moment for me. I realized that unmet expectations are going to happen whether you declare them or not...but if you actually say them out loud, they at least have a chance of coming true.

I barely recognize that version of myself now, the one whose face didn’t match her feelings, but I’ll never forget her. She was the beginning of me learning to ask. I realized I didn't feel known, but you can't live your life in a corner of your mind playing out scenarios and expect people to follow the script.

We often avoid the risk of sharing because of one giant word: FEAR. We're afraid that if we share, they won't care. We tell ourselves that if we have to ask, it doesn't mean as much—but I’m challenging you to flip that. When you are brave enough to share a dream and someone makes it happen, it actually means more. It says, “I saw you when you were vulnerable, I protected your heart, and I lifted you up”.

A Decade Later: The Dream Realized

Fast forward nearly ten years. Our dryer was out for the fourth time that summer, and I was trying to channel my inner "pioneer woman" while hanging laundry on the line, but mostly I was just tired.

It was my birthday again, and our supper club was hosting. I was trying to drag a load of wet laundry to my friend's house because we have the kind of "framily" who doesn't judge your dirty (or wet) laundry. When we pulled in, Josh stopped me from bringing the bags in. "Not tonight. Just leave it," he insisted.

I’d like to say I was a graceful wife, but instead, I let the old stories drift back in. I got sour. I rolled my eyes. I muttered something about him caring too much what people think.

Then I walked inside and I was speechless.

There they were. All of them. Balloons, pineapples, and a tribe who, as they put it channeled their "inner me" to throw the surprise party of my dreams. I immediately pivoted to my husband, who was wearing a mix of "Gotcha" and "You should have trusted me," and I poured out my "I'm sorrys".

That night wasn't just about getting what I wanted. It was about the decade-long journey of developing relationships with people who care deeply about your "best life" moments. They don’t love me by accident; they love me on purpose.

The world is always going to try to pull you apart from the people you love. You have to fight to get back to each other. That choice—that deliberate, vulnerable, "on purpose" way of living—is what actually makes up a life together.