Happiness Antidote #1: Expectations

It’s a nasty trap, having expectations. I’m not sure it’s the worst of the happiness antidotes (although the argument could be made), but it’s definitely a dominant offender. How many times have you been disappointed, frustrated, even angry about that thing you didn’t get – whether it be a coveted item, job, boyfriend, football game outcome, you name it? Would you have felt as unhappy if you didn’t expect this outcome in the first place?

Think about Christmas morning (or Hanukkah or whatever your thing)… imagine yourself hoping, wishing, EXPECTING, something specific (you know you do it – in your 40s and still thinking like a 6-y-o when it comes to presents). You play it cool as you open gifts, waiting for that one new item you’d been eyeing at the mall. Maybe you’ve been dropping hints for months, maybe you’ve been direct; whatever the case, when your holiday haul doesn’t include it, you ignore whatever thoughtful, useful, beautiful stuff it does include, and feel let down. You regress to your spoiled child self thinking, “how come I never get what I really want?”

This happened once to my dear husband (sorry Pete, but it’s the perfect anecdote). I think it was our second married Christmas. The internet company he worked for went under in the internet bust of 2000, and he’d been unemployed for a while. Given that, we set a $30 limit. Now, a little back-story, I have a mom who makes a big deal of gift giving – she puts all kinds of thought into her gifts and wraps them impeccably – for my 30^th, she had 30 individually wrapped gifts. Now, trust me, I wasn’t totally spoiled; the gifts weren’t extravagant, some were things like a lipgloss or socks, and I don’t think anything was on my “list,” but it was the process of opening and enjoying each unexpected treat that was so great (albeit embarrassing given the friends standing around twiddling their thumbs as I, a grown-up, unwrapped package after package). Anyway, my point in this illustration is that I grew up with a certain idea about gift giving. I like gifts to be personal, something not on the list, ideally that little trinket the person never knew they wanted or needed. My husband, not so much.

So, back to that Christmas… we had set this $30 limit, and my husband had been working-out a lot to fill his unemployed time. He had one thing on his list – a medicine ball that was about $20. (Now, here’s where I give him credit. He did ask for it specifically and repeatedly to increase his odds of getting his want met – but that’s something we’ll hold for the relationship series.) Anyway, against my typical gift patterns, I bought the desired medicine ball, which was a first for me given my beliefs around gifts. Now, this item’s shape and weight make it a challenge to wrap, so, I hid it in the hall closet with a bow on top (so at least there was some surprise to this predictable gift) To use my other $10 (or maybe $20 – I might have been slightly over), I purchased some leather gloves at Marshalls, a traditional skier ornament (I love picking out unique ornaments each year) and probably a bunch of chocolate for his stocking. That morning, we opened gifts from relatives and finally our own. At the end, my grown husband was pouting. He started in with something like, “I can’t believe you didn’t get the one thing I really wanted.” Now, at that moment, I did some of my best wife work ever: I didn’t snap back! This was obviously pre-children, when I was rested, and likely this early in my marriage, when I was still too codependent to meet his whine the way I might now (now that I’m better at speaking my mind). Anyway, I digress. On that morning, I smiled coyly, and asked him to grab my sweatshirt for me out of the hall closet. Clearly annoyed, he reluctantly made his way to the closet, and, upon opening, turned to me sheepishly as the medicine ball stared back at him (which by the way I think was used a handful of times and probably found its way to the garage). Anyway, I don’t tell this story to throw Pete under the bus (although, admittedly, it was a little fun to share it), but to illustrate the danger of expectations. They turn us toward what we don’t have. 

And this is just the superficial stuff! The consequences around expecting tangible stuff are minimal compared with the consequences of expecting things like success, love, joy, power, control, even happiness itself. Despite common 21^st century Western beliefs, we aren’t entitled to any of these things. In fact, we actually undermine our chances of feeling happy by setting these expectations (thus, the happiness antidote).  

I can hear you saying, but Whitney, what about setting intentions, imagining yourself succeeding; what about cultivating optimism? Well, my response is, YES, keep doing those things, but do them from a place of open-minded, detached intention. 

Wanting and expecting are different. A “wish list” means, these are things I’d love to get, happen, etc, but I don’t expect them or feel entitled to them. My “happiness” is not dependent on them. I will simply do what I can (within reason) to cultivate my desires, let go (even grieve) what I don’t get or can’t have, and find contentment and gratitude (see last week’s post) in the resulting life. When this want is combined with entitlement or attachment, that’s when you are doomed by expectation. When you indulge your entitled, deserved form of want, you set yourself up to feel jipped, and when you move into that victim thinking, you can’t appreciate anything you have. 

Instead, try practicing detached optimism, the general turning toward things working out, being ok, providing what we need, combined with a heavy dose of letting go of outcomes. My challenge to you (and myself) between now and the next post: focus on catching yourself when you’re expecting, and shifting those expectations to detached optimism. I can safely say, it’s way easier said than done. Just moments after telling my friend Yoona about this post that I’d been working on before zumba class, I found myself asking about the upcoming playlist. Without missing a beat, she responded, “I don’t know. It’s better with no expectations.” Touché, my friend, touché.