There are few things worse than not living up to the expectations you put on yourself. I understand the strain of obligations and pressures piled on by friends and family, but frankly the only ones that end up mattering are those accepted as your ‘own problems.’
Anyone can say to your face what he or she expects from you, although unfortunately on some occasions they wait three months and then blow up in your face, leaving you nonplussed yet inexplicably speechless. That’s neither here nor there and I suppose there are some things better yelled than calmly stated, but the way you imagine someone to be when you should know as well as anyone it isn’t who they are is nothing to break down over. But, ah, this is one of the many problems with less than a quarter century of life experience; you don’t really know anything.
Well, not literally.
I absolutely fall into the aforementioned demographic, and so of course I’m lacking in the substantial, ever-vague, and commonly accepted truths of life that appear to vary from personality to personality but essentially all play out to the same end. I mean I know extremes are bad and consequently, moderation of almost everything is good. I also know that life tends to work itself out, even if it’s not necessarily for the immediate, perceived best. What’s better than a surprise you don’t comprehend and don’t know is coming anyways? Not much. Still I’m absolutely baffled as to whether there’s a pattern to any of it. I don’t believe in luck or tempting fate, but I can’t imagine there’s no way to get a grip on this stuff.
The more you want something involving more than yourself, the less likely it seems to work out. The biggest hindrances to unexpected, welcome tricks of fate seem to be lofty and baseless to expect. Unfortunately, there’s no way of knowing exactly what to do in most situations so you tend to push your ideal agenda, never thinking that maybe, just maybe, your ideals are irrevocably askew from reality.
We’ve all been there before: first impressions worked a little too hard on, straying too far from yourself to fit in with the picture perfect group or frame, the unappreciated good things, that ought to, but never will satisfy, and of course, the monster, the champion of all things kidding-yourself: love in vain; in spite of all the facts and advanced metrics. There is no worse kind of blind misunderstanding than the disbelief brought by flat out, straight up, not being wanted by the proverbial one.
It’s one thing to want a better life, whether via a job or healthier lifestyle, etc, but those kinds of expectations never leave you shaking on the steps at midnight, unable to breath through your nose, just staring. Ambitions to be with someone aren’t about knowing your life will be tangibly better, they’re about knowing your life will be tangibly different, and that they’ll be a part of that incarnation. Unmet expectations are a drag, but I suppose it’s worse than not wanting anything at all.