 I've written before about the greatest fear I have left in my life -- the fear of letting people down:
To me happiness is not wanting anything, and ridding
yourself of the chores and obligations that you hate, and taking on
just the right amount of things that they can all be done well,
comfortably and joyfully.
So
it was interesting that, on his final day on the campaign trail, that
was also what President Obama was telling his closest advisors -- his
concern that expectations were so high and the challenges so great that
he was bound to disappoint. And the morning after his victory, Garrison
Keillor, in his advice to Obama, wrote that he would inevitably
disappoint his supporters, and not to let it get him down. The
pathological Bush was a self-declared master at lowering expectations,
though somehow he still managed to disappoint us all, again and again.
I
wonder to what extent this fear of disappointing drives me, and others.
My desire to live simply, without responsibilities or possessions, to
practice instead of intending and aspiring, my interest in polyamorism
-- are these all ways to hedge my bets if I fail to live up to others'
expectations, and my own?
The new way of damning a subordinate in the workplace, instead of calling them a fuck-up, is to tell them (and others) they disappointed
you. On the surface it seems politer, but it's really a nasty and
cowardly way of trying to make them feel guilty and keeping them in
wage slavery. I've never told anyone I was disappointed with them,
though I've been tempted.
Same thing in many people's "second
job" as a family member, or as a team member in a recreational
activity. Tell a mate they "let you down", or give 'em that sigh and
disappointed look, and it gets them to do what you want far more
effectively than yelling, arguing, or even crying.
What is it
about us that we are always rising to others' expectations? Is some of
our anxiety because we think they expect more of us than they really
do? Is it really our own unreasonable expectations we're trying to live
up to?
Or is it just society's way of getting us to conform, to obey, to do what others want, to make us everybody-else?
I've
noticed, in many people who communicate in writing (IM, e-mail, Second
Life text, and even real letters) a great anxiety about meeting in
person (if they haven't previously), and an even greater anxiety about
speaking on the telephone (or VoIP). As writers, do we set a standard
of communication we can't hope to live up to in real-time? Is that
space, that silence on the line, just too unbearable to contemplate, an
admission of not really knowing what to say?
As I've aged I've
become a bit ornery about others' expectations of me, and of others
("the government", business "leaders", "society"). We should know
better than to expect much of people and institutions. Most of us
really are doing the best we can, even we slackers. Most people don't
have the skills, the capacities, the resources or the time to do better
than they do now, every day. Most people are ignorant, and distracted
by personal challenges and sorrows, and unimaginative, and incompetent,
and under these circumstances it's remarkable that they do for us, and
for themselves, as much as they do.
My hope for others, now, is
that they will simply be more authentically themselves. That's hard,
and a lifetime challenge, but it's possible for everyone and, I think,
a worthy pursuit. I do not expect it of them; I just do my best to help
them get started on that journey, and wish them well. I do expect this
of myself, but I have the good fortune to have learned, at last, who I
am, so becoming nobody-but-myself is now just a matter of practice. If
people expect me to be something more, or different, they will be
disappointed. That is their business, not mine.
This is, of
course, easy to say. The look, and the expression, of disappointment,
of having let someone down, yet again, is still hard for me to take.
But I'm learning to recognize it for what it is, and I try, now, to
tell people I cannot and will not live up to others' expectations of
me, and I refuse to feel badly when others are disappointed in me or
feel I have let them down. I usually pave the way for this by being
brutally honest with people, from the moment I meet them, and declaring
what I will and will not do, for them or for their cause, whatever it
may be.
Learning to say no may be the most important, and liberating, lesson of our lives.
It is in our nature to seek attention and appreciation, and the quid quo pro
for that is usually offering something to others in return, and raising
their expectations in the process. So many people are looking for
someone to lead them out of their particular situation of anguish,
hopelessness, despair, loneliness, or constant struggle. The best we
can do for them, and ourselves, is to help them to help themselves, and
to realize that they have to help themselves. That is the ultimate
generosity, and it can be given with no strings attached.
So if
you feel, dear readers, friends, colleagues, loved ones, that I have
disappointed you, let you down, failed to live up to your expectations,
then I apologize -- not for that failure, but for having given you
somehow the impression that I had accepted or could ever offer to do
more than share my thoughts, ideas, knowledge, love, and, most
precious, time with you.
I am, after all, just the space through which stuff passes,
a part of the unfathomably complex dance of all-life-on-Earth, learning
to improvise which of that passing-through stuff to touch, and which to
just let go. "Ah, I know how I can make
this better, or clearer, or more interesting, or more useful, or more innovative, or more fun -- there!" Just being the space, and touching
the right stuff in just the right way as it passes through.
I hope some of that stuff is yours.
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