I made a New Year's Resolution a few years ago to Be Less Negative. A friend promptly pointed out that my first step in keeping my resolution should be to rephrase my resolution from Be Less Negative to Be More Positive. I laughed, agreed and then proceeded to tell this very story every time the topic of negativity or resolutions came up.
What I didn't realize at the time was that Be Less Negative and Be More Positive were two entirely different resolutions. When I was less negative, it didn't automatically mean I became more positive. Just because I was focusing less on what I didn't like about my job didn't mean that I was thinking about what I liked about it instead. I didn't replace my negative thoughts with positive ones. While it would be nice if positivity and negativity were a nice, neat sliding scale of -50 to 50, sometimes the parts just don't quite add up to 100.
Similarly, sometimes an event or milestone doesn't quite live up to all of the hype leading up to it. As a result, the actual event or milestone that you'd been so eagerly looking forward to for so many months ends up being disappointing. My solution has always been to lower my expectations. If you're not expecting something to be amazing, then you can't be as disappointed if it's not and you'll be pleasantly surprised if it is. But then I had a thought: why am I trying to Be Less Negative when I could be trying to Be More Positive?
Instead of lowering expectations to avoid disappointment, why not accept that the whole may actually be less than the sum of its parts and enjoy both sides of the equation? It is possible to enjoy the means, the process, the anticipation, the hype, the expectation, the build-up just as much as the end itself. In some ways, the process is the very fun itself. It's like a road trip - it isn't the destination that matters so much as the journey itself.
Showing posts with label Expectations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Expectations. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Hiding the Ball
I recently read an article about a study that measured the happiness of married couples one, five and ten years after marriage. And they didn't measure the happiness of just any old married couples; they compared happiness of arranged marriages versus "love marriages." Surprisingly (or maybe unsurprisingly), the couples whose marriages had been arranged were happier than their love marriage peers five years after getting hitched and much MUCH happier ten years after tying the knot.
Granted I have no idea how this study "measured" and "compared" happiness, but my first thought was well, obviously, the arranged marriage couples were quote unquote happier. Their expectations were lower! Happiness is nothing if not relative. Case in point: I loved law school. But was I actually happier while I was in law school than I had been in college or at any point in my life before that? Or was it simply that I had expected it to be horrible and when it wasn't, I was suddenly not just happy that it didn't suck but I was also happy that my decision to attend law school had been validated and I wouldn't eventually regret being saddled with a miserable amount of debt to pay for a miserable three years. So, my point is, of course arranged marriage couples are happier. They probably expected it to suck. So when it didn't suck as much as it did, they were happy that it didn't suck and on top of it all, they were happy that they were happy.
(Or. Maybe the people whose marriages were arranged had spent two years being single in New York and had given up hope that they would ever find anyone so they were just grateful that their parents were able to find someone for them to marry at all.)
The study did not espouse any such cynical theories. The one that struck me the most was the idea that in arranged marriages, everyone's faults are out there on the table from the start. Everything has already been vetted and all the cobwebs have been swept out of the closet. You know exactly what you're getting into. On the the other hand, with 21st century dating, you can spend months getting to know someone and still have no idea what the catch is.
Now, I realize that maybe not everyone has a catch. And for my own sanity, I think I'd want to know that too. If there are NO deal breakers attached to a particular guy, it would be great to know that up front, so I could stop looking for faults and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. I feel like I've spend way too much time trying to figure out the end of the phrase "he's really great but..." And similarly, I feel like I've expended a lot of energy hiding my crazy girl side from guys I've dated. So maybe it would be nice to just say to a guy at the very beginning, "Hi, nice to meet you. And by the way, I can get a little nutso at times, I'm a commitment-phobe and I don't like holding hands."
This all sounds so nice to me in theory. After years of futilely playing the dating game, the idea of having a little cheat sheet, a guide to getting the next level in Mario Bros., well, it just sounds lovely. But then I wonder, if I did have such a cheat sheet, would I ever give anyone a chance in the first place? Would anyone give me a chance in the first place? Maybe it IS better not to know someone's faults until you've had a chance to meet each other and sparks have flown. Maybe it's only after falling in love with someone that you can really accept someone's faults because you actually want the good to outweigh the bad.
So is it better to have all the information up front? Or is it better to keep hiding the ball? I'm not sure.
Granted I have no idea how this study "measured" and "compared" happiness, but my first thought was well, obviously, the arranged marriage couples were quote unquote happier. Their expectations were lower! Happiness is nothing if not relative. Case in point: I loved law school. But was I actually happier while I was in law school than I had been in college or at any point in my life before that? Or was it simply that I had expected it to be horrible and when it wasn't, I was suddenly not just happy that it didn't suck but I was also happy that my decision to attend law school had been validated and I wouldn't eventually regret being saddled with a miserable amount of debt to pay for a miserable three years. So, my point is, of course arranged marriage couples are happier. They probably expected it to suck. So when it didn't suck as much as it did, they were happy that it didn't suck and on top of it all, they were happy that they were happy.
(Or. Maybe the people whose marriages were arranged had spent two years being single in New York and had given up hope that they would ever find anyone so they were just grateful that their parents were able to find someone for them to marry at all.)
The study did not espouse any such cynical theories. The one that struck me the most was the idea that in arranged marriages, everyone's faults are out there on the table from the start. Everything has already been vetted and all the cobwebs have been swept out of the closet. You know exactly what you're getting into. On the the other hand, with 21st century dating, you can spend months getting to know someone and still have no idea what the catch is.
Now, I realize that maybe not everyone has a catch. And for my own sanity, I think I'd want to know that too. If there are NO deal breakers attached to a particular guy, it would be great to know that up front, so I could stop looking for faults and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. I feel like I've spend way too much time trying to figure out the end of the phrase "he's really great but..." And similarly, I feel like I've expended a lot of energy hiding my crazy girl side from guys I've dated. So maybe it would be nice to just say to a guy at the very beginning, "Hi, nice to meet you. And by the way, I can get a little nutso at times, I'm a commitment-phobe and I don't like holding hands."
This all sounds so nice to me in theory. After years of futilely playing the dating game, the idea of having a little cheat sheet, a guide to getting the next level in Mario Bros., well, it just sounds lovely. But then I wonder, if I did have such a cheat sheet, would I ever give anyone a chance in the first place? Would anyone give me a chance in the first place? Maybe it IS better not to know someone's faults until you've had a chance to meet each other and sparks have flown. Maybe it's only after falling in love with someone that you can really accept someone's faults because you actually want the good to outweigh the bad.
So is it better to have all the information up front? Or is it better to keep hiding the ball? I'm not sure.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Priorities
My mom has been wanting grandchildren...probably since I was born. Eight years ago, we were at Harrod's in London buying a gift for my cousin's first baby. I picked out this cute little stuffed bear. And then my mom decides to buy two of them - one for my cousin's kid and one...to save for her first grandchild. I was 18. Eighteen! That bear has probably been shoved so far back into a corner of my mother's closet that by the time the day comes when my mother becomes a grandmother, it'll probably be easier to fly back to London and buy a new bear than to try and find the old one. Actually, I bet by then my mom will have completely forgotten that she ever bought that bear in the first place.
So, a little while ago, I was thinking about expectations, and my mom's in particular, and decided it would be in her best interest if I told my mother NOW that I didn't think I wanted kids. Truthfully, I'm pretty indifferent to the kid issue, and I imagine I will probably end up wanting them at some point, BUT the truth wasn't the goal of this exercise. The goal was to start tempering my mother's expectations; I just wanted her to be prepared for the possibility that she may never have grandkids to spoil. I confess that I also thought it might be kind of fun to see her reaction. I'm a bad daughter, I know. I wasn't sure if her jaw would drop to the ground or if she would cry or if she'd try to convince me what a joy it is to be a parent (until the day your kids become sick and twisted and tell you that you may never be a grandmother just to see your reaction). So one day, I decided to just drop the bomb completely out of the blue. The conversation went something like this.
Mom: Do you want to come with me to the grocery store?
Me, casually: I don't think I want to have kids.
Mom, without missing a beat: Well that's okay. Some women are more into their careers.
Me: ................
Well that back-fired. Instead of shocking her, she completely shocked me. She shocked me into complete and utter silence. I couldn't believe she was so okay with the idea of me not having kids! Her! My mom! The woman who bought a stuffed animal for her first grandchild when her daughter was 18! And then I went, wait. What? Does she really think I don't want kids because I want to focus on my career?
But...but...I don't even like my present job. I certainly have no plans to make it my lifelong career. When I think about how I've conducted my life over the course of the last 10 years though, it does seem like every decision I've made has been in furtherance of some fuzzy dream of professional success. It is also true that when my high school classmates got married at 22, followed their husbands to wherever they (the husbands) found jobs and then started popping out babies, I absolutely judged them. These were smart girls, and I couldn't help but wonder what happened to all of their youthful ambitions of becoming somebody, apart from just somebody's wife. I distinctly remember one girl whose goal was to be the first female President of the United States. She was one of the ones who got married at 22 and has never lived further than 10 miles from where we grew up. Now, I know that when she tied the knot, it didn't mean she couldn't still become the first female President of the U.S. But in my mind, it did. Marriage meant failure, while getting far away from the town where we grew up meant success.
The thing is, I'm relatively happy with the straws I've drawn in life, but still, sometimes, in some ways, I envy their lives. I envy the fact that they have a family of their own that they can call their number one priority. When someone asks them what the most important thing in their life is, they can definitively say, "My baby and my husband."
And then I look at myself. I've never made having a family, or being in a relationship for that matter, a priority. Actually, I actively avoided it. I've always kind of thought, well, what's the point in getting emotionally invested in someone when we're just going to have to break up at the end of the high school/college/graduate school/summer? I feared that I would fall in love with someone and then have to rearrange my life around him and give up a dream job for a lesser one just so that we could be together. I didn't want love to hold me back from achieving whatever it was I thought I needed to achieve.
So if I haven't chosen to make love and a family my number one priority, does that make my career my number one priority by default? Are those the only options? I tried to think about what might appear at the top of other twenty-somethings' priority lists if not their family/relationship or career. Faith? Charitable works? Drinking? Blogging? Traveling? Coffee breaks? City league sports? Mere survival?
I guess the most important thing in my life right now is figuring out what the most important thing in my life is right now.
So, a little while ago, I was thinking about expectations, and my mom's in particular, and decided it would be in her best interest if I told my mother NOW that I didn't think I wanted kids. Truthfully, I'm pretty indifferent to the kid issue, and I imagine I will probably end up wanting them at some point, BUT the truth wasn't the goal of this exercise. The goal was to start tempering my mother's expectations; I just wanted her to be prepared for the possibility that she may never have grandkids to spoil. I confess that I also thought it might be kind of fun to see her reaction. I'm a bad daughter, I know. I wasn't sure if her jaw would drop to the ground or if she would cry or if she'd try to convince me what a joy it is to be a parent (until the day your kids become sick and twisted and tell you that you may never be a grandmother just to see your reaction). So one day, I decided to just drop the bomb completely out of the blue. The conversation went something like this.
Mom: Do you want to come with me to the grocery store?
Me, casually: I don't think I want to have kids.
Mom, without missing a beat: Well that's okay. Some women are more into their careers.
Me: ................
Well that back-fired. Instead of shocking her, she completely shocked me. She shocked me into complete and utter silence. I couldn't believe she was so okay with the idea of me not having kids! Her! My mom! The woman who bought a stuffed animal for her first grandchild when her daughter was 18! And then I went, wait. What? Does she really think I don't want kids because I want to focus on my career?
But...but...I don't even like my present job. I certainly have no plans to make it my lifelong career. When I think about how I've conducted my life over the course of the last 10 years though, it does seem like every decision I've made has been in furtherance of some fuzzy dream of professional success. It is also true that when my high school classmates got married at 22, followed their husbands to wherever they (the husbands) found jobs and then started popping out babies, I absolutely judged them. These were smart girls, and I couldn't help but wonder what happened to all of their youthful ambitions of becoming somebody, apart from just somebody's wife. I distinctly remember one girl whose goal was to be the first female President of the United States. She was one of the ones who got married at 22 and has never lived further than 10 miles from where we grew up. Now, I know that when she tied the knot, it didn't mean she couldn't still become the first female President of the U.S. But in my mind, it did. Marriage meant failure, while getting far away from the town where we grew up meant success.
The thing is, I'm relatively happy with the straws I've drawn in life, but still, sometimes, in some ways, I envy their lives. I envy the fact that they have a family of their own that they can call their number one priority. When someone asks them what the most important thing in their life is, they can definitively say, "My baby and my husband."
And then I look at myself. I've never made having a family, or being in a relationship for that matter, a priority. Actually, I actively avoided it. I've always kind of thought, well, what's the point in getting emotionally invested in someone when we're just going to have to break up at the end of the high school/college/graduate school/summer? I feared that I would fall in love with someone and then have to rearrange my life around him and give up a dream job for a lesser one just so that we could be together. I didn't want love to hold me back from achieving whatever it was I thought I needed to achieve.
So if I haven't chosen to make love and a family my number one priority, does that make my career my number one priority by default? Are those the only options? I tried to think about what might appear at the top of other twenty-somethings' priority lists if not their family/relationship or career. Faith? Charitable works? Drinking? Blogging? Traveling? Coffee breaks? City league sports? Mere survival?
I guess the most important thing in my life right now is figuring out what the most important thing in my life is right now.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Settling
Ten years ago, a guy friend that I've known since the third grade declared that I would end up "settling." I didn't really know how to react to that. Maybe it was partly because his tone was dripping with schadenfreude, but I took offense at his prediction. What did that say about me, what did that say about how he viewed me, and what did that say about how he thought I viewed myself? If he thought I was going to "settle," to me he was implying one of five things:
(1) There is no guy out there that is good enough for me.
(2) There is no guy out there that my friend thinks is good enough for me.
(3) There is no guy out there that I will think is good enough for me.
(4) There is no guy out there that my friend thinks I will think is good enough for me.
(5) I am going to get so tired of looking for the guy out there that is good enough for me that I am going to give up altogether.
These are all pretty grim options, except for maybe #2 if I was secretly in love with my friend (which I wasn't). We weren't even that good of friends, and yet his words still haunt me to this day. Every time I decide not to go on a second date after having gone on a mediocre first date, I can hear him saying in his creepily triumphant tone, "YOU are going to end up settling."
I thought about it again when a friend sent me an article with an interview of Lori Gottlieb about her new book entitled Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough, which I can only imagine is just a longer, sadder version of this 2008 article. In that article, Gottlieb wrote, "I don’t mean to say that settling is ideal. I’m simply saying that it might have gotten an undeservedly bad rap." When I first read this article in 2008, I thought, ha! See, Old High School Friend? You may not be wrong about me settling but you sure were wrong to think settling would make me miserable! Gottlieb's article expressed a stance that I had already been gravitating towards in my early 20s. These were questions I was grappling with myself. Why are we women always looking for perfection? Why are we always thinking that something better will come along? I grew up believing that I deserved nothing but the best in all areas of my life, including love. I was definitely ready to blame society, sappy rom coms, my overly optimistic girlfriends, my parents and anyone else for instilling and reinforcing my sense of entitlement.
By 2008, when that article came out, I had started to realize that sometimes, having low expectations can be a wonderfully good thing. If you're expecting something to be terrible, then you'll be pleasantly surprised when you enjoy it. I appropriately adjusted my expectations, not necessarily meaning that I lowered them, but I tempered them. I had no delusions about meeting some perfect guy and falling instantly in love. There was nothing that I deemed an instant dealbreaker anymore (okay fine, maybe "occupation: terrorist" is still a dealbreaker). In sum, I no longer thought of ending up with a guy who was less than perfect as "settling." I became healthily realistic, and having that attitude meant that I ended up dating a wide array of guys in 2009.
But when that article resurfaced this year, I couldn't help but resent the concept of "settling" altogether. Take Ms. Gottlieb, for example. She looks back and regrets breaking up with boyfriends who she might otherwise have ended up marrying. Am I supposed to feel sorry for her? I think she should be damn happy that she even had a boyfriend who was willing to marry her and who she could have seen herself marrying. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, right?
Which then begs the question, is the whole idea of "settling" just a way to make women feel better that they had the option of marriage at all? It's much easier to say, "Well, I could've married him, but I decided I could do better" than to say "I've never met someone who I could spend the rest of my life with." Sure, it's easy for Ms. Gottlieb to turn to us 20- and 30-somethings and say, "Listen up ladies, settle for that one." But what if even "that one" doesn't turn up?
I've long concluded that it's not "settling" if I end up with someone who is less than perfect. If I find someone who I can spend the rest of my life with, well, then that would be just lovely. I'm not worried so much about "settling" anymore. I am worried that I might never find someone with whom I could settle down at all.
(1) There is no guy out there that is good enough for me.
(2) There is no guy out there that my friend thinks is good enough for me.
(3) There is no guy out there that I will think is good enough for me.
(4) There is no guy out there that my friend thinks I will think is good enough for me.
(5) I am going to get so tired of looking for the guy out there that is good enough for me that I am going to give up altogether.
These are all pretty grim options, except for maybe #2 if I was secretly in love with my friend (which I wasn't). We weren't even that good of friends, and yet his words still haunt me to this day. Every time I decide not to go on a second date after having gone on a mediocre first date, I can hear him saying in his creepily triumphant tone, "YOU are going to end up settling."
I thought about it again when a friend sent me an article with an interview of Lori Gottlieb about her new book entitled Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough, which I can only imagine is just a longer, sadder version of this 2008 article. In that article, Gottlieb wrote, "I don’t mean to say that settling is ideal. I’m simply saying that it might have gotten an undeservedly bad rap." When I first read this article in 2008, I thought, ha! See, Old High School Friend? You may not be wrong about me settling but you sure were wrong to think settling would make me miserable! Gottlieb's article expressed a stance that I had already been gravitating towards in my early 20s. These were questions I was grappling with myself. Why are we women always looking for perfection? Why are we always thinking that something better will come along? I grew up believing that I deserved nothing but the best in all areas of my life, including love. I was definitely ready to blame society, sappy rom coms, my overly optimistic girlfriends, my parents and anyone else for instilling and reinforcing my sense of entitlement.
By 2008, when that article came out, I had started to realize that sometimes, having low expectations can be a wonderfully good thing. If you're expecting something to be terrible, then you'll be pleasantly surprised when you enjoy it. I appropriately adjusted my expectations, not necessarily meaning that I lowered them, but I tempered them. I had no delusions about meeting some perfect guy and falling instantly in love. There was nothing that I deemed an instant dealbreaker anymore (okay fine, maybe "occupation: terrorist" is still a dealbreaker). In sum, I no longer thought of ending up with a guy who was less than perfect as "settling." I became healthily realistic, and having that attitude meant that I ended up dating a wide array of guys in 2009.
But when that article resurfaced this year, I couldn't help but resent the concept of "settling" altogether. Take Ms. Gottlieb, for example. She looks back and regrets breaking up with boyfriends who she might otherwise have ended up marrying. Am I supposed to feel sorry for her? I think she should be damn happy that she even had a boyfriend who was willing to marry her and who she could have seen herself marrying. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, right?
Which then begs the question, is the whole idea of "settling" just a way to make women feel better that they had the option of marriage at all? It's much easier to say, "Well, I could've married him, but I decided I could do better" than to say "I've never met someone who I could spend the rest of my life with." Sure, it's easy for Ms. Gottlieb to turn to us 20- and 30-somethings and say, "Listen up ladies, settle for that one." But what if even "that one" doesn't turn up?
I've long concluded that it's not "settling" if I end up with someone who is less than perfect. If I find someone who I can spend the rest of my life with, well, then that would be just lovely. I'm not worried so much about "settling" anymore. I am worried that I might never find someone with whom I could settle down at all.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A First First Date
Tonight I went on a first date. My first First Date since 'D'. Obviously it didn't go that well considering it's 11pm and I'm home and blogging about it. Honestly though, it wasn't actually a bad date. It was really quite pleasant. But even so, the minute I got into that cab, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
I know that sounds all sorts of terrible, especially because really, the date wasn't actually bad. He was on the short side but cuter than I remembered. He had some funny stories and he shared my love of Arrested Development. While I was there, I had a good time. But the minute I was alone again, it hit me. I was out on first dates...again.
In so many ways, this was the perfect first First Date to go on. I had absolutely no expectations. It was practically a blind date. I didn't know anything about him apart from his name and the fact that he had a 617 number and so probably had some connection to Boston. I met him three days after things ended with 'D', when I was at Spitzer's (again). I ran into him on my way out of, and on his way to, the bathroom. (Yeah, totally romantic.) He was basically like, "Hey, I was actually going to come over and talk to you and your friend in a minute." So we had a quick chat, I gave him my number, he called and I agreed to have a drink with him.
Despite the many, many random guys I've given my number out to at bars, I've actually only gone out with 2 (now 3) of them. And, not because of any fatal flaw of their own, none of them have made it past the first date. And this latest one is probably not going to be an exception to that rule.
It's just that as LOW as my expectations were for this date (and they were lowest they could be since I had none), I was still disappointed. I was disappointed all over again by 'D' and the fact that here I am, out on first dates again when all I really want is to be with someone who knows me, inside and out, who understands me, who loves me, and who, despite the fact that he could, would never, ever break my heart.
I know that sounds all sorts of terrible, especially because really, the date wasn't actually bad. He was on the short side but cuter than I remembered. He had some funny stories and he shared my love of Arrested Development. While I was there, I had a good time. But the minute I was alone again, it hit me. I was out on first dates...again.
In so many ways, this was the perfect first First Date to go on. I had absolutely no expectations. It was practically a blind date. I didn't know anything about him apart from his name and the fact that he had a 617 number and so probably had some connection to Boston. I met him three days after things ended with 'D', when I was at Spitzer's (again). I ran into him on my way out of, and on his way to, the bathroom. (Yeah, totally romantic.) He was basically like, "Hey, I was actually going to come over and talk to you and your friend in a minute." So we had a quick chat, I gave him my number, he called and I agreed to have a drink with him.
Despite the many, many random guys I've given my number out to at bars, I've actually only gone out with 2 (now 3) of them. And, not because of any fatal flaw of their own, none of them have made it past the first date. And this latest one is probably not going to be an exception to that rule.
It's just that as LOW as my expectations were for this date (and they were lowest they could be since I had none), I was still disappointed. I was disappointed all over again by 'D' and the fact that here I am, out on first dates again when all I really want is to be with someone who knows me, inside and out, who understands me, who loves me, and who, despite the fact that he could, would never, ever break my heart.
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