Successfully navigating through life requires that we meet a continuous series of expectations. Society formally refers to these as laws or customs. Our fellow humans expect us to stop at a red light rather than speeding on through. It is customary to pay for our groceries rather than stuffing them into our pants and walking out the door. We learn, with varying degrees of difficulty, that the consequences of disregarding such expectations can have grim implications.
Internally, expectations are essential for keeping us on track to reach our own goals. Experience teaches us whether our expectations are realistic. It’s important to remember, however, that expectations are a form of visualization, not only helping us to complete tasks but also to exceed preconceived limitations. Much like a golfer “sees” his perfect drive rocketing down the middle of the fairway and soaring over an imposing water hazard before he even makes contact with the ball, anticipating success in any pursuit is a positive exercise that trains the mind to overcome obstacles with purpose and ease.
But what about when our expectations are not met? How do we respond when our tee shot dives straight into the drink, taking with it a healthy chunk of sod? What kind of self talk takes over? Do we beat ourselves up? (“I’m a terrible golfer!”) Shift blame? (“This game sucks!”) Find a scapegoat? (“I know I heard a cellphone go off during my backswing!”) Self-medicate? (“Might as well smoke another beer…”) Or do we tee it up again, make adjustments, and try again?
Having flexibility in our expectations is essential to achieving success. Predictability and expectations are cousins, not Siamese twins. For instance, I could not have predicted that this writing on expectations would turn into a Golf Digest mini-essay. Nonetheless, rather than take a mulligan, I will hunker down in my bunker, gauge the distance to the end of this paragraph, select the proper combination of flowery adjectives and blue-collar verbs, study the wind direction for public perception, and drive my point home in the direction of the green, upon which sits a billowing flag, marking the location of a tin cup, into which my perfectly executed shot will plop, miraculously saving par yet again...
