Ben:
Over the past few months, Esther and I have toiled to fix up a house and plan and execute a wedding so we could merge lives and work toward a common goal; I've labored to get into Wittenberg University; we set up the kids in a new school, merged our budgets, and completed a host of projects that seemed nigh impossible a few months ago. During those late nights of painting and moving, we fantasized about the hard work being over one day, and our life as a family beginning. So, here we are!
Now we're juggling school and work schedules, groceries, laundry, a dog that dives out screened windows, and various multiple things with deadlines. As a result, we grouse and pine for when things were simpler. What happened? We met every goal we set out to reach. Why aren't we deliriously happy, twirling about in the mountains without a care?
Expectations can be the bane of any situation. Some of you may remember this scenario. As a kid, you asked and
asked for that One Toy. Your friends had it (you heard them bragging about it all day at school). The kids on the commercials had it, and they were having the time of their lives, according to the cool voice-over guy, mesmerizing graphics, and blazing sound
effects. The store shelves were lined floor to ceiling with it – a virtual
monolith of fun, a temple of kid ecstasy erected so high it became the
Kilimanjaro of the department store, visible from any vantage point. It
permeated your very dreams.
You were told you couldn’t have it right away, that, instead, you should put it on your Christmas list. You then felt like a lovesick sailor months from home, not knowing if his true love would be waiting at the dock when he got in; but for weeks, you sacrificed. You went to bed without complaint, you strove to fly under the radar at school, and you did your best to maintain nonaggression pacts with your siblings. The exercise was draining, but, as it increased the odds your wish would be granted, you endured long days of suppressing your natural kid-like instincts.
Then the day came, and, after participating in the Christmas Day rituals and routines, you were finally awarded the gold ring, the prize, THE ONE TOY. It was indeed your Precious. At first.
At first, you had ecstatically, violently ripped off the wrapping, you'd aggressively torn open the box and cut the plastic pieces that bolted it in place. The One Toy had tumbled out of its cardboard womb followed by reams of instructions and pamphlets for even cooler toys set to release in the spring. But then you noticed something.
The One Toy was smaller than it had appeared on TV. There was no cool voice-over guy and no snazzy sound or visual effects. It was just you, your over-hyped toy, and a mountain of disappointment bigger than the pile of crumpled wrapping paper on the family room floor. You're still you. It didn't solve all your problems, it didn't make you the coolest kid on the block, your siblings still picked on you, your bed still needed to be made - The One Toy changed nothing except that now you no longer had The One Toy to look forward to. (Not to be dissuaded, you stuffed your mouth full of chocolate and played with your new Lego set while watching Empire Strikes Back on VHS with your family.)
This scenario plays out over and over in life. You'd think we'd learn from our childhood experiences, but time and again we play the elevated expectations game just to find ourselves flat on our backs like Charlie Brown having the football yanked away by Lucy yet again. We do this with weight loss, or getting that perfect job, or finding the right romantic interest. We get stuck in these ruts of discontent, and look to things and people to solve all our problems. A great example is the serial dater who thinks another human being will fix the broken pieces of his life, only to discover each time that the other person has her own collection of fragments. Disillusioned, both people walk away from another unsuccessful relationship. Another example is the person who diets or exercises, improving her body with the expectation that angels will descend and people will line up around the block to date her. But when she arrives, she is still herself, there is no hallelujah chorus nor famous actors looking her up, and she falls into a depression - which is what happens to all of us with lofty expectations of various life goals.
So what's the point? If there's nothing but an overrated toy and an empty box waiting for me, why get out of bed Christmas morning? Why reach? We know, of course, that it is worth it to reach, because of the good that can come of trying to improve one's life. But how does one avoid the expectation crash? First, be content! ("Boring! Boooo!") No, I mean it. Wanting what you have, appreciating where you are in life, even if life isn't all that ideal, is key to being happy.
If you've done that and are still out of sorts, then closely examine your life. There's a good chance you've got some things you need to work out, whether it's an unresolved conflict with a friend, some old issues from when you were younger, or something more serious like depression or anxiety that needs a professional's touch. (And please listen when I say this: anxiety, depression, and other things of that nature are not signs of weakness! You don't just "get over it." If you're persisting in that state, then it's either external, in which case you need to remove the cause of your pain, or it's internal, in which case you should speak to a professional. You don't just "get over" diabetes or high blood pressure, so make an appointment! We've all needed help at some point. Ok, rabbit trail over...)
Once you've got your ducks in a row, then look to improve your life. If you're looking for a relationship, find someone who shares your life goals. Lose weight because you want to reduce your risk of heart attack or stroke. Look for that better job because it's what you're called to do. Just understand that each level in life will present its own set of unique challenges, and be prepared. Also? Just because things don't look the best now, doesn't mean they will stay that way.
Remember: things aren't ever going to be as good as you think they're going to be, or as bad as you think they'll be.
You were told you couldn’t have it right away, that, instead, you should put it on your Christmas list. You then felt like a lovesick sailor months from home, not knowing if his true love would be waiting at the dock when he got in; but for weeks, you sacrificed. You went to bed without complaint, you strove to fly under the radar at school, and you did your best to maintain nonaggression pacts with your siblings. The exercise was draining, but, as it increased the odds your wish would be granted, you endured long days of suppressing your natural kid-like instincts.
Then the day came, and, after participating in the Christmas Day rituals and routines, you were finally awarded the gold ring, the prize, THE ONE TOY. It was indeed your Precious. At first.
At first, you had ecstatically, violently ripped off the wrapping, you'd aggressively torn open the box and cut the plastic pieces that bolted it in place. The One Toy had tumbled out of its cardboard womb followed by reams of instructions and pamphlets for even cooler toys set to release in the spring. But then you noticed something.
The One Toy was smaller than it had appeared on TV. There was no cool voice-over guy and no snazzy sound or visual effects. It was just you, your over-hyped toy, and a mountain of disappointment bigger than the pile of crumpled wrapping paper on the family room floor. You're still you. It didn't solve all your problems, it didn't make you the coolest kid on the block, your siblings still picked on you, your bed still needed to be made - The One Toy changed nothing except that now you no longer had The One Toy to look forward to. (Not to be dissuaded, you stuffed your mouth full of chocolate and played with your new Lego set while watching Empire Strikes Back on VHS with your family.)
This scenario plays out over and over in life. You'd think we'd learn from our childhood experiences, but time and again we play the elevated expectations game just to find ourselves flat on our backs like Charlie Brown having the football yanked away by Lucy yet again. We do this with weight loss, or getting that perfect job, or finding the right romantic interest. We get stuck in these ruts of discontent, and look to things and people to solve all our problems. A great example is the serial dater who thinks another human being will fix the broken pieces of his life, only to discover each time that the other person has her own collection of fragments. Disillusioned, both people walk away from another unsuccessful relationship. Another example is the person who diets or exercises, improving her body with the expectation that angels will descend and people will line up around the block to date her. But when she arrives, she is still herself, there is no hallelujah chorus nor famous actors looking her up, and she falls into a depression - which is what happens to all of us with lofty expectations of various life goals.
So what's the point? If there's nothing but an overrated toy and an empty box waiting for me, why get out of bed Christmas morning? Why reach? We know, of course, that it is worth it to reach, because of the good that can come of trying to improve one's life. But how does one avoid the expectation crash? First, be content! ("Boring! Boooo!") No, I mean it. Wanting what you have, appreciating where you are in life, even if life isn't all that ideal, is key to being happy.
If you've done that and are still out of sorts, then closely examine your life. There's a good chance you've got some things you need to work out, whether it's an unresolved conflict with a friend, some old issues from when you were younger, or something more serious like depression or anxiety that needs a professional's touch. (And please listen when I say this: anxiety, depression, and other things of that nature are not signs of weakness! You don't just "get over it." If you're persisting in that state, then it's either external, in which case you need to remove the cause of your pain, or it's internal, in which case you should speak to a professional. You don't just "get over" diabetes or high blood pressure, so make an appointment! We've all needed help at some point. Ok, rabbit trail over...)
Once you've got your ducks in a row, then look to improve your life. If you're looking for a relationship, find someone who shares your life goals. Lose weight because you want to reduce your risk of heart attack or stroke. Look for that better job because it's what you're called to do. Just understand that each level in life will present its own set of unique challenges, and be prepared. Also? Just because things don't look the best now, doesn't mean they will stay that way.
Remember: things aren't ever going to be as good as you think they're going to be, or as bad as you think they'll be.
----------
I like how Ben doesn't tell you his inspiration for this post was my minor meltdown last night, in which I howled my certainty that this was our life now, and that we would be frantically running errands, catching up housework, and collapsing late into bed with our Maslow's needs still unmet each night until we died of old age. I don't know how I thought a five-person household with full-time working/studying parents would be run, but I do know that "down time" has begun to take on the shimmering, mythical form of Shangri-La.
No matter how often that inner logical voice reminds me to check my expectations, though, I can't seem to regulate them. They build to Disney World fervor when anticipating a weekend trip, and plummet to phobia-strength panic when my boss calls me into his office. It's a track record of being wrong that extends backwards for years, and if I could convert the doggedness of these mistaken expectations into personal fuel, I'd have published several novels and founded a couple charities by now.
Thankfully, by the time I'd met Ben, my expectations for a relationship were finally pretty healthy and realistic, but I attribute that to having survived post-divorce dating. (Really, survived, as in, "made it out alive." If you've had to venture back out into the dating world after a long-term relationship, you know what I mean. Crazy abounds.) But despite knowing what my marriage can and can't (or shouldn't) provide, I still lack the ability to level set my expectations on other topics.
For the past eighteen years, for instance, I've fantasized about my Great American Dream during a monotonous stream of driving to work, coming home from work, driving to work, coming home from work. It's possible I'll wake up one day and grab the Now, in whatever form that takes, and it's also possible I'll retire without ever having taken a step toward my dreams. Either way, it'd probably be a good idea to learn to be content in whatever state I find myself.
It's funny how things can pass you by while you're straining to see into the future, to see other things. There were late nights, just a few months back, in which Ben and I scraped at whole rooms of wallpaper until our arms were jelly. During those nights, all I could fix my thoughts on was our blissful future married life. Now the future is here, and my thoughts return belatedly to the bliss right there in that kitchen full of wallpaper peels...to our laughter bouncing off long-quiet walls...to the companionable rhythm we fell into and were delighted to discover we had together.
Whether the future is as good as I hope or as bad as I fear, I hope my expectations never get so loud that I can't hear the magic happening now.
Esther:
I like how Ben doesn't tell you his inspiration for this post was my minor meltdown last night, in which I howled my certainty that this was our life now, and that we would be frantically running errands, catching up housework, and collapsing late into bed with our Maslow's needs still unmet each night until we died of old age. I don't know how I thought a five-person household with full-time working/studying parents would be run, but I do know that "down time" has begun to take on the shimmering, mythical form of Shangri-La.
No matter how often that inner logical voice reminds me to check my expectations, though, I can't seem to regulate them. They build to Disney World fervor when anticipating a weekend trip, and plummet to phobia-strength panic when my boss calls me into his office. It's a track record of being wrong that extends backwards for years, and if I could convert the doggedness of these mistaken expectations into personal fuel, I'd have published several novels and founded a couple charities by now.
Thankfully, by the time I'd met Ben, my expectations for a relationship were finally pretty healthy and realistic, but I attribute that to having survived post-divorce dating. (Really, survived, as in, "made it out alive." If you've had to venture back out into the dating world after a long-term relationship, you know what I mean. Crazy abounds.) But despite knowing what my marriage can and can't (or shouldn't) provide, I still lack the ability to level set my expectations on other topics.
For the past eighteen years, for instance, I've fantasized about my Great American Dream during a monotonous stream of driving to work, coming home from work, driving to work, coming home from work. It's possible I'll wake up one day and grab the Now, in whatever form that takes, and it's also possible I'll retire without ever having taken a step toward my dreams. Either way, it'd probably be a good idea to learn to be content in whatever state I find myself.
It's funny how things can pass you by while you're straining to see into the future, to see other things. There were late nights, just a few months back, in which Ben and I scraped at whole rooms of wallpaper until our arms were jelly. During those nights, all I could fix my thoughts on was our blissful future married life. Now the future is here, and my thoughts return belatedly to the bliss right there in that kitchen full of wallpaper peels...to our laughter bouncing off long-quiet walls...to the companionable rhythm we fell into and were delighted to discover we had together.
Whether the future is as good as I hope or as bad as I fear, I hope my expectations never get so loud that I can't hear the magic happening now.
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