Expectations

Expectations, they're are a curse.

There’s a reason why people ask you to dream big,

But, caution you, stop you, tell you to expect less.

Tread with care, it says, because the journey ahead could get rough.

But I don’t pay heed. I nurture my expectations like a boss.

How can I settle for less with a dream so big?

A few years later, I hear the echoes, in slow and rhythmic chant:

They’re a curse.. They’re a curse...Expectations are a curse.

And so, while I wait and work for it, they only go farther off.

Why are they such a mystery I wonder:

After all, the expectations are mine!

I birthed them, fed them, let them play with my dreams.

Now, all they have to do is come and embrace me. Make themselves a reality.

Instead they taunt. They poke. They make me wonder about their dimensions:

Am I not too high? Am I low?

Instead of just showing up, they further torment me, in hushed whispers:

If you lower me, aren’t you lowering your self-worth?

What will people think?

How will your face yourself when you’re 80?

With such questions they bring in confusion. Chaos. Sadness.

For every choice I make,

Be it a house, a car, or a partner, expectations come forth like disapproving uncles.

But weren’t these expectations mine?

I owned them. But now, somehow, I seemed to be disappointing them.

Amid long stretches of these heavy thoughts, comes one ephemeral strand of relief.

'Fuck the expectations. They are only in your head.

They are just the speed boosters to your vehicle.

Your vehicle is going to get to the destination, with or without the boosters.

You’ll get there.'

Fuck the expectations. Fuck the expectations.

Get to the destination. Get to the destination, I chant to myself.

Meanwhile, the slightly weakened tormenter continues its job.

And with every step comes the:

Poke. Taunt. Poke. Taunt. Poke.