Every summer since junior year of high school I've tried to read my favorite novel The Great Gatsby. There have been a few summers I've missed, but I've been fairly consistent. I'm half way through and I can tell you reading it at this age holds different truths than reading it for the first time at 17. At 17 it's filled with romance; a beautiful man who will build a memorial to your beauty and wait an eternity for you. I can still smell the lemon scent of Daisy's white dresses, feel the oppressive heat of late August (another genius metaphor for Gatsby's wild dreams), and see the end coming while still in the thick of the plot. The characters don't see it coming until its too late. Reading it now the summer that marks the end my 20's I find I'm the same age as the characters and I see new themes as a parent, friend, participator in an (almost 10 year) relationship.
I see the breaking weight of unrealistic expectations. The panic and disappointment of holding an all too specific dream too close. Daisy could never be all that Gatsby dreamed.
I made a notation (see picture) a few years back. She could never be his everything because she's human and not Divine. Slowly as we mature and learn to manage our expectations as life marches on I'm struck by the weight of our expectations; my expectations. What opportunities do they crush before they're allowed to enter the dream for my life? We have to find a way to balance self-imposed expectations and especially the expectations we have of others with regard to the reality of who they are and what they can actually give. I feel the weight of this most heavily in parenting. How about you? Would love to hear your thoughts. I've said it before and I'll say it again: F. Scott you're a genius, I think Zelda would agree...
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