Life is a process, and as complex, multidimensional beings, we exist within systems, learning to adapt to their ebbs and flows. Every day is a new beginning, and we must make choices that allow us to thrive.
There are times when the path forward isn’t readily visible, and the weight of a decision feels overwhelming. But what makes it feel so difficult? It could be the systems we navigate, our mental state, past traumas, the many micro and macro crises we face, or simply life itself.
Context matters.
How we perceive a potential outcome often determines how we feel—whether we resist or open ourselves to what’s unfolding. No one mindset is inherently better than the other.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about expectations. What does it really mean to hold expectations? And what happens when those expectations aren’t met? Is there any fallout, or are unmet expectations simply part of life?
In the last six months, I’ve had three business collaborations go sideways. I spent significant time clarifying expectations and communicating clearly. Yet, two of the projects still derailed, leaving me questioning: “How could I have been clearer?” “Were the expectations communicated well enough?” “Could there have been a way to pivot and realign?”
Then, a month ago, I came across a LinkedIn post that made me bristle.
In response, I left a comment, engaging in what felt like an important conversation. I’m still unsure of the poster’s intent—perhaps they aimed to be provocative, given how much traction the post received (including my comment!). But the statement carried a strong individualistic tone, a “everyone-for-themselves” mentality, which doesn’t resonate with how I view the world.
I was completely bristled by the post!
We may lead separate lives, but our survival depends on cooperation within the ecosystems we share. Most of us, if not all, hold expectations—whether it’s fairness, the desire to be heard and valued, or a basic level of dignity and respect. Are those lofty expectations? I’m not sure.
At times, we may hold expectations that aren’t rooted in mutual respect, which can lead to ruptures in how we relate. But even when that happens, there’s room for repair. It takes receptivity—the ability to listen to each others’ expectations and the courage to find a new path that allows for growth and understanding. When expectations are blended, something new emerges. This process takes courage because it changes the course of events and transforms everyone involved.
Receptivity, even in disagreement, creates space for innovation, breaks down barriers, and reveals the humanity in those we engage with. Expectations, in this sense, are always evolving. They don’t exist in isolation; they’re shaped in relation to others. This requires becoming comfortable with discomfort—more so than retreating to our own corners when things get difficult.
Shaping expectations is about challenging the status quo, discovering new perspectives, and embracing change. This only happens in community. It takes self-trust, humility, and a willingness to adapt.
So, what expectations do you hold that you could possibly loosen your grip on?
When caring for oneself becomes a privilege, it raises an important question, one that threads through the book Who is Wellness For? by Fariha Róisín.
This provocative, intriguing book explores how wellness can exist for an individual in a collective where not everyone is well. I often say wellness is subjective and universally desired, but it’s not accessible to all. Róisín’s book, part memoir—chronicling her trauma and abuse—and part cultural critique, examines her journey to well-being. She discusses how wellness culture has appropriated Indigenous wisdom and repackaged it for those with the resources to access these practices.
The book is divided into four sections: Journey to the Mind, Journey to the Body, On Self-Care, and Introduction to Justice. Róisín pulls from scholarly theories and Indigenous practices to deeply explore the question, “Who is wellness for?” She highlights how non-Western cultures understand that personal wellness reflects the health of the collective.
When cultural practices are commodified without understanding their spiritual and cultural values, they lose their power to uplift collective well-being and instead become products for profit. This is seen in how meditation, yoga, and herbal remedies have been commodified in Western culture.
In a society like the United States, which often emphasizes individualism, how do we ensure everyone feels safe and cared for? In the Introduction to Justice section, Róisín asserts that wellness should be for everyone. If not, there will be societal dissonance—and perhaps we are already seeing this. She writes, “There is no wellness for all, but there can be a society that accepts all people’s right to feel well and have access to whatever it is that will help them get there.”
So, do you believe it’s possible for us all to be well?