What did you expect?

The small lip of an awning over the chairs outside the sushi restaurant only shaded the left half of my body as I sat facing my friend, but I didn't think anything of it--until two and a half hours later when I was unlocking my bike and realized I had a dark sunburn on only the right half of my body. My right leg, right arm, and right half of my face were all dark red. So I did the next logical thing: I stopped by the bookstore and went down to the nearby park to read while I let the sun bathe the other half of my body, determined to even out this burn.

I didn't get much reading done. I called my mom first and talked for a while, and then I found myself talking a little to God. I was in the middle of this latter engagement when a boy who looked to be a slightly older or just graduated college student sat down at my picnic table. Beside him he plopped down a milk carton that read "Hope & Sesame." The side of the carton facing me read something along the lines of "Life is made of simple things" and then told a short story about the miraculous contributions of the sesame seed. I didn't actually read it because from the time the man sat down to the time he left I don't think he ever stopped talking, except for the occasional brief moment to take a swig from the carton.

I was honestly a little annoyed. I don't get all that much alone time, the park had been relatively quiet and peaceful, and God and I had been having a pretty good talk. But perhaps because he had interrupted in the middle of a prayer I carried a small expectation that perhaps there was something I was to learn from this man, and so, feeling safe in a well-occupied park and not having a whole lot else to do, I listened intently.

We had a relatively interesting discussion about our purpose in life, our expectations for others, what we look for in people, and the possibilities of change. He had a heavy accent that was hard to understand and spoke in a disjointed manner that would have made it hard to follow his train of thought even in perfect English. Occasionally he would ask a question but then it was clear later on he hadn't really been listening to my answer. That annoyed me a little and I didn't actually walk away with much, except for one word from the conversation that had seemed to etch itself in my mind: expectations. Expectations are a powerful predictor of pleasure and satisfaction--or dissatisfaction. 

It was my roommate who first pointed out to me this relationship. To illustrate, she had related the story of her first time trying red velvet cake. Not knowing quite what it was, she saw the dark red color and expected a nice fruity cake--strawberry or raspberry. Consequently, she was much disappointed at its lack of fruitiness and since then has carried a distaste for red velvet cake. 

I learned a few things from my roommate and from my conversation with this man about expectations. First of all--I had expected to learn from him, and so consequently, I did. When we expect the best, that is more often what we will find. Secondly, as I thought of how often we can feel disenchanted or disappointed because of our expectations going unmet or unrealized, I thought of some of my own expectations that might benefit from adjustment. What are your expectations for yourself? For others? Are they fair? Do others know what the expectations you have of them are? 

Next time you find yourself disappointed or unsatisfied by an outcome maybe one place to start is by asking yourself, as I have done, What did I expect?