Expectations.
They are funny, really. When was the last time you had high expectations, and actually met them?
Hmmmm.
Think about it.
Tough question, isn’t it?
Let’s try again: Have you ever had high expectations and had them met?
I’ll wait.
Take your time.
If you’re like most people I’ve talked to, life doesn’t really unfold like that. You know, you have something coming up in life and you spend countless hours having endless grandiose scenarios rifle through your mind.
Of course your expectations depend on who you are.
Some individuals always expect the worst, so their expectations remained tempered and subdued.
Others prefer to shoot for the stars — or as my daughter Sierra once wrote, “I shoot for the galaxies since everyone else is shooting for the stars” — and they expect, sooner or later, for their dream to come true on the wings of angels singing like a choir.
Yet others settle on a reasonable expectation because they feel the need to be prepared, like a frickin’ Boy Scout.
However, in nearly all cases of our daily expectations, the experience never unfolds just as you imagined it, leaving you just a shade less than completely fulfilled and satisfied.
Nope, the really special moments of life; the memorable flashes of life, the really, really special moments that we all live for, sneak up and take us by surprise. Perfect moments.
Those are the moments we cherish. Why? I argue simply it’s because we did not have expectations.
Expectations can be the cancer of your soul. We all have had a pretty good, almost great, moment slip through our lives nearly unnoticed because it didn’t live up to the usually unrealistic, pie-in-the-sky expectations we’ve set for ourselves. Don’t feel bad about this. It happens to everyone. Every day.
Life and the concept of expectations takes a wicked turn the day you sit in a roomful of wrapped presents and instead of ripping them open one-by-one, savoring the special moment of accepting a gift from someone else that represents in material form all the wildly fantastic feelings they have for you, there you are, operating with the efficiency of an assembly line worker, playing a game of hide-and-seek looking for that one item that you’ve put on top of your list and that you have decided, consciously or sub, will determine whether or not this occasion can be deemed a complete success.
Again, don’t feel bad. We all do it at one time or another, on one level or another. For some it might dominate and dictate life. For others it has a more subtle influence. I contend, however, it is there for all of us. Those nasty expectations. It’s impossible to live life without them.
Who’s fault is it? Everyone, really.
It begins before you even know it. Your parents candy-coat the true challenges of life as to not intimidate you. Don’t think so? Ever dab some peas from a baby food jar onto your lips and force a smile while telling an infant who doesn’t even know the difference between “Mama” and “Dada” that this culinary delight is, “Yummy. Ummmm, ummmm, good!” I rest my case.
No need to tap into those moments in the doctor’s office with all the intensity of the climax in a Stephen King thriller when those fateful words come tumbling out of your mouth as a nurse prepares a needle that has your stomach doing backflips, “Don’t worry, Sweetie, this will only hurt a little.”
It’s at moments like these that children are hardwired to really not believe a word that comes from your mouth and instead rely on their own instincts to develop their own expectations for event.
Everyone burns themselves on purpose at some point in life to see if hot is really as hot as they say, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
You can see where I’m headed here with expectations. It happens with everything important in life: School, work, parenthood.
Oh, don’t get me started on parenthood. That’s the biggest conspiracy of mankind. If the true horror stories of parenthood were handed down without the sugarcoating, well, the world’s population explosion would be more of a puff.
So I’ve made it pretty clear in my first 99 columns how I feel about expectations, how I seldom, if ever, try to find out anything about a ride ahead of time which, of course, is rather strange as the column has morphed primarily into a cycling travel guide for the Pacific Northwest.
When I sat down and thought about upcoming column No. 100, and how it should be a celebration of my ability that his ripe old age to continue to spit out stories that I think someone might be interested in reading in this age where podcasts and videos rule, those damn expectations began to swirl around in my head.
That’s when I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and instead focused on the perfect moments.
’til next week …
Time to ride
