You try to prepare for it with the adage of "hope for the best and prepare for the worst." Only, I've found that I don't quite keep that fifty-fifty. It's more like 60/40...okay, no, more like 80/20.
Why is that?
Even knowing that the worst is probably what's going to happen, there's that hope. It's that little green leafy sprig, sticking up in the arid sandy desert, waving like a flag.
And I don't want to give it water, but I do it anyway.
Am I glutton for punishment?
Sometimes, I wonder if I am. Do you wonder that? Does it make you feel dumb? Because I feel dumb. Am I alone in this? Sometimes, I wonder if I am.
Then after all those rambling thoughts, I have one of those rare moments when things are quiet. The house is still. It's early, and I'm drinking my coffee.
That's when I hear that little voice whisper, ever so gently...
Hope is a powerful thing. It's the light in the darkness when I can't see anything beyond the situation that I'm in.
Yes, the worst is going to happen. I'll never be able to prepare for it.
But, even in the midst of that, there's that hope I can hang onto to weather the worst and things will be okay.
Now, whether those things are the way I wanted them to happen is a different story. But I think that's just how life works.