Edition #143: Great Expectations
Plus, how much does it cost to live like this, an incredible directorial debut, and some good songs
A Note From the Editor
On the day you were born, you were removed from your mother's womb, whether by force or with the help of human hands and sharp tools, as a bundle of innocence. Someone was glad about your arrival—it might’ve been your mother, your father, a sibling, or a stranger. Someone was glad because of what your arrival meant for them. You represented an opportunity. A fresh shot at life, the way that person anticipating your arrival thought life should be. Even as you were gulping down your first breaths, screaming at the harshness of the light in this foreign world, you were a vehicle for possibility.
No matter who you are or where you came from, you were born onto a universal bed of expectations. Perhaps those expectations came from your parents—this child will have a better life than I had, they thought. This child will go to college and will get a certain kind of job. This child will be happier than I was, safer than I was. They will fall in love with a partner who will take care of them and live happily ever after.
The expectations flowed from elsewhere, too. Those expectations might’ve come from institutions—this child will grow up in this neighborhood living under this income level and, statistically speaking, will be more at risk for instability as an adult. This child, born into this ethnic group in this certain area of the country, will likely fall into this group of voters. This child will be useful to me or a nuisance to me.
We unknowingly entered this world with a bundle of predetermined expectations placed strapped to our backs. We had no say in the matter, and it would take years of observance to realize the sheer weight of the expectations we’d been carrying around our whole lives. To decide whether or not we would orient our lives to these expectations, to pursue them or forge a different path entirely.
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Over a humble pour of natural red wine, I gazed across the table at a dark-haired man as we discussed the ways in which we deviated from the paths expected of us. With a conviction that surprised me, I said that if I were to ever have children, my chief aim would be for them to grow up feeling no sense of expectation from me; no push to be this way or that. I wouldn’t want these phantom children to feel they needed to go to college, to marry, or to procreate. I wouldn’t want them to live with the nugatory worry of disappointing me with the choices they made; whether or not they became a dancer or a city dweller or a world traveler. I would want them to do no harm to others and of course, I would have quiet hopes for them, for thier lives, but my grandest hope would be that I could practice enough restraint to protect them from my own projections of what they should become.
Expectation is inevitable; it is the stuff we are made of. We expect our children to have certain types of lives, a caliber of which is oft determined by what we didn’t have growing up. Societally, we expect others to follow the rules, both social and lawful. We expect our own lives will turn out a certain way, we expect our friends and loved ones will act a certain way. We expect, expect, expect.
And yet—as time glides past, I noticed that the more I release these rigid expectations, the more beauty finds its way into my life. The first, most obvious example that comes to mind is travel. I am a travel writer by trade and I veer equal parts restless and curious, so I tend to spend a lot of time exploring the world. I wasn’t always this way; I only began to travel out of the country somewhat regularly in 2018. Before then, I’d left the States just once and only for a week.
One of my early trips was to the Amalfi Coast; my first encounter with Italy. We spent a few days in Amalfi before traveling to Positano, that impeccably photographed stretch of beach known for its abundance of fresh lemons and hills dotted with ancient buildings. It was beautiful and yet, upon departure, I found myself saying that I probably didn’t need to return to Italy. I’d expected to feel swept up in the romance of the place, captivated by the delicious foreignness of it. Instead, I found the town to be inarguably beautiful, but mostly touristy.
Later that year, I traveled to Iceland on a whim for my 26th birthday. I purchased the tickets because they were cheap, but I’d never been particularly drawn to the country, so the trip was low stakes. I remember driving back to Reykjavík one evening after spending the day, quite literally, chasing waterfalls. The sun was setting, casting a gentle pale grey light onto blue mountains. Elton John’s apt melody blasted through the car’s speakers and, when I glanced out the window, I saw a herd of petite Icelandic ponies galloping alongside us. I cried, basking in the full awareness that this was one of those rare, transcendent moments I’d always remember.
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The act of releasing one’s expectations is difficult, but not impossible. It is, in some ways, an act of faith, allowing yourself to be surprised by what the Universe or God or whatever force you believe in tosses your way. The more frequently you consciously choose to let go of expectations and notice the good that comes from the act, the easier it will be to make doing so a habit.
It is particularly difficult to release expectations when it comes to something like online dating, which I am currently fully entangled in at present. You see a person’s profile and think, wow, they are HOT, I am going to love them! Hard as I try not to enter a first date with expectations, they more often than not seem to follow me quietly into the bar. There they are, that hot person. Just as hot as I’d expected! And then they open their mouth and, surprise, they aren’t what I’d imagined. I don’t like the lilt of their voice, though our lifestyles and future plans match up perfectly, I don’t feel a thing when they grab for my hand, when they kiss me.
Then other times I manage to go into a date with a blank slate; perhaps I wasn’t floored by the person’s profile or perhaps I’ve made assumptions about the feasibility of our potential pairing based upon what little information I’ve scrounged together from their digital pitch. Always, without fail, it is these dates that have produced the most lasting relationships. At first, I thought it was a coincidental fluke, but now I know better. When I hesitate for a moment before opening the door to a meeting place for a first date and feel the weightlessness of having no expectations, I remind myself that, probably, it means this encounter has the chance to be something real. And I laugh aloud.
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Lessening expectations is not an exercise in lowering standards; it is an exercise in relinquishing the perceived control we have over life’s mysterious sequence of events. As you move through the week, the month, the upcoming summer season, try to become more aware of your expectations. Notice when they are most pronounced, whether they are vehicles for joy or disappointment. Once you’ve become acquainted with them, you’ll be much more capable of letting them go. And when you do, I think you’ll find a decent bit of delight awaiting on the other side.
Cheers, my dears, and as always, thanks for reading. I’ve made too many plans for the weekend which include: drinks with a stranger, dancing in Brooklyn with my girlfriends, a dinner catch-up, and a trip to a secret garden. Where ever you are, I hope the weather is mild and warm. And I hope you have the chance to do absolutely nothing for a few hours this weekend.
Finally, a note: I’ve been irritated lately with the amount of paywalled content I’ve come across. Gone are the “three free articles per month” allowances; it feels like so much of what I want to read these days I can only read if I am a subscriber. And while I am all for supporting independent journalism—seriously, we should all pay for the content we like if we are able—it also feels like the media I prefer to consume is becoming a classist club in which only those with disposable income can engage.
Because of this. I’m going to remove the paywall from my suggested content each week for the time being. I instilled the paywall more aggressively earlier this year in hopes that I could convert more of you free readers to paid subscriptions—I’ve said this before, but there is no way for me to justify spending the time and energy needed on this newsletter without the support of paid subscriptions. The paywall wasn’t as effective as I’d hoped in increasing my paid subscribers, and with how intense these paywalls are everywhere else on the internet lately, I understand why.
All that’s to say if you are currently a paid subscriber, thank you. I mean this sincerely—if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be able to continue with this project. I’ll continue to brainstorm ways to add value for paid subscribers, but for now, it feels important for me to make this newsletter the most accessible place possible. And not to toot my own horn, but these content recs are good! I want you all to read them each week, to look up the writers of those poems and essays I link that you like, to engage in conversations around the content I suggest. If you are an avid. reader of this newsletter and you haven’t yet opted for a paid subscription., I hope you’ll consider doing so. Ok, I love you, bye!
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
How Much Does it Cost to Live Like This? Dear God, this piece. Curbed interviewed a handful of young New Yorkers who are ostensibly on their way to being able to afford a middle to upper-middle-class lifestyle about their dream lives in 15 years’ time. Then, they calculated the cost of said dream lives and the results are…staggering. Not surprising, but a bit of a shell shock. I had so many takeaways from this piece outside of the exorbitant cost of the described lifestyles—mainly, that none of the lives described sounded like what I want in the future, which was oddly comforting. Would love to hear your thoughts here.
What Random Finds Do You Swear By? Recently, while exercising the art of witty first-date banter, I asked the man sitting across from me to share his sleeper hits. Sleeper hits, I improvised, were things that you recently discovered were life-changing. This list from Cup of Jo, along with the comments section, is full of sleeper hits.
I Learned To Talk Less and Listen More. Collectively. we’ve come a long way in the art and awareness of having conversations. I often hear friends and loved ones ask, “Do you want advice, or do you just want to vent?” before engaging in a longer conversation—a question I try to ask, too. This article felt like the 2.0 version of such sentiment. I recently had a conversation in which I was able to feel the advice bubbling up in my throat before swallowing it down. As I did, I made space in my own mind to hear the person more clearly versus responding to what I thought they were saying, and it was a mind-altering exercise. I suggest giving it a try!
Perhaps You Should… See This Incredible Film
I saw The Starling Girl last weekend and, WOW. I wanted to immediately run home afterward and take copious notes about the style, because watching it felt like a masterclass in the art of powerful, quiet filmmaking. The friend who I saw the film with had a similar reaction—we clutched each other’s arms the entire time, gasping, covering our eyes, glancing over at eachother like, “Did you just see that?” What makes it even better is that the film is the film was Laurel Parmet’s directorial debut. I can’t wait to see everything else she puts out there in the world.
**Bonus Content** (Movie Dialogue No One Has Actually Said in Real Life)
I’ about to submit an original pilot to a film festival competition—my first real submission of a script! Rejoice! I am very much ready to get the script out of my hands, as I’ve read it roughly one million times by now. In the spirit of reading and re-reading scripted dialogue, this one made me laugh
Also, I could really use this. This song is my current on-loop obsession, and this one’s a close second. A better alternative for “How are you?”
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“We take our shape, it is true, within and against that cage of reality bequeathed us at our birth; and yet it is precisely through our dependance on this reality that we are most endlessly betrayed.”
-Notes of a Native Son by James Baldwin
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.