🌀 Reflections from the Spiral: The Scripts We Never Shared.

Note 1

Eric’s Corner

Monday–August–18–2025

🌀 Reflections from the Spiral: When They Don’t Act the Way You Thought.



Most anger is not about what happened, but about the surprise of being wrong. Expectations break louder than glass. The world doesn’t owe us the script we wrote in silence.



Thank you for turning,

For reading,

For listening,

For spiraling with me,

Eric.

P.S. If this reflection landed with you, I’d love to know. Tap the like button, leave a comment, restack it, share it, subscribe, or just follow along.

Note 2

Eric’s Corner

Monday–August–18–2025

🌀 Reflections from the Spiral: Miscalculations of the Heart.



It wasn’t their words that stung — it was my own failed prediction. My upset was an echo of my own misjudgment. What hurts is not them, but me, reminding myself I was wrong.



Thank you for turning,

For reading,

For listening,

For spiraling with me,

Eric.

P.S. If this reflection landed with you, I’d love to know. Tap the like button, leave a comment, restack it, share it, subscribe, or just follow along.

Note 3

Eric’s Corner

Monday–August–18–2025

🌀 Reflections from the Spiral: The Illusion of Control.



I wrote the play, cast the roles, and got furious when no one followed my invisible script. Maybe life is improv, and the only mistake is believing I direct the stage.



Thank you for turning,

For reading,

For listening,

For spiraling with me,

Eric.

P.S. If this reflection landed with you, I’d love to know. Tap the like button, leave a comment, restack it, share it, subscribe, or just follow along.

Note 4

Eric’s Corner

Monday–August–18–2025

🌀 Reflections from the Spiral: Broken Mirrors.



Expectation is a mirror we hold up to others. The crack begins when they don’t reflect back what we demanded. But maybe they weren’t mirrors at all — maybe they were windows.



Thank you for turning,

For reading,

For listening,

For spiraling with me,

Eric.

P.S. If this reflection landed with you, I’d love to know. Tap the like button, leave a comment, restack it, share it, subscribe, or just follow along.

Note 5

Eric’s Corner

Monday–August–18–2025

🌀 Reflections from the Spiral: Softening the Grip.



Every expectation is a fist closed around the future. Every disappointment is the ache when the fist opens. The spiral whispers: hold the world loosely.



Thank you for turning,

For reading,

For listening,

For spiraling with me,

Eric.

P.S. If this reflection landed with you, I’d love to know. Tap the like button, leave a comment, restack it, share it, subscribe, or just follow along.

Long-Form

Eric’s Corner

Monday–August–18–2025

🌀 Reflections from the Spiral: The Scripts We Never Shared.



I realized something about myself last week: I don’t always get angry because of what someone did. I get angry because what they did didn’t match what I expected. My frustration is not with them, but with the gap between the world I imagined and the one I received.



How many times have I silently written scripts in my head? I’ve cast the people around me in roles they didn’t audition for, written lines they never agreed to speak. And when they stumble on stage, saying something I didn’t anticipate, I blame them. I accuse them of ruining a play they never knew they were in.



But if I’m honest, the wound is my own. What I can’t stand is being wrong. My upset is my failed prediction. The tightness in my chest is not their betrayal but my own disappointment in myself, that I didn’t see it coming.



Expectation feels like control. If I can predict you, then I can steady myself. If I know what you’ll say, then the floor under my feet feels solid. But when you act differently, when you surprise me, the floor cracks. And my anger rushes in not to punish you, but to rebuild my balance.



I wonder how much of life I’ve spent trying to tame the wildness of others into predictability. To make them play their roles correctly so that I could feel safe. I mistook expectation for understanding. I mistook control for love.



What if I stopped writing scripts for others? What if instead of memorizing lines they’ll never speak, I allowed each encounter to be improvisation? What if I met people as they are, not as the characters I need them to be?



There is freedom in releasing expectation. A softness in no longer demanding the future unfold on my terms. When someone surprises me, I can feel my body tense, ready to protest. But then I remember: the spiral is not a line. It bends. It curves. It makes space for the unexpected.



Disappointment, I’m learning, is the sound of an expectation dying. But maybe that’s not a death to grieve. Maybe it’s a release. Every time my invisible script is torn apart, I’m being offered a chance to step into a truer story — one written in real time, one where no one else is forced to play my role.



The world doesn’t owe me my guesses. The people around me don’t exist to prove me right. And perhaps what I called anger was only ever the echo of my own surprise.



Thank you for turning,

For reading,

For listening,

For spiraling with me,

Eric.

P.S. If this reflection landed with you, I’d love to know. Tap the like button, leave a comment, restack it, share it, subscribe, or just follow along