I Woke Up Twice Last Night. First For Four Hours, And Then For Three.
If you've never considered exactly how much our lives are controlled by expectation, here's how much!
Did I ever mention it's not easy being a writer? Especially when inspiration usually happens when normal people are fast akip! I think it must be the fact that I've been engaging my brain far too much recently, and, if this is anything similar to the way a zombie on amphetamines must feel (minus the flesh-eating bits, of course), then, this sudden surge of creativity will likely result in me writing the 'Insomniacs Handbook - if one doesn't exist already. All 2.500 pages of it, if this writing frenzy continues at the current pace. Now, in other news, I took a complete guess at the ninth letter of the alphabet, and I was right.
Anyway, not being one to disappoint my readers by veering away from a decade of pure gibberish, as expected, I'll continue my exploration of "expectation," a topic I've subtly touched upon in my last two blog posts. I'm sure you missed that connection — which just goes to show what happens when you, dear reader, focus too much on the dark humour.
You, like Moi, have probably never stopped to think about how much 'expectation' controls our everyday lives, have you? Without delving into the deep and murky waters of qualitative and quantitative research (of which I'm not the holder of any educational degree, by the way, let alone knowledge) I would bet my feline's inheritance that you haven't lost any sleep on the subject at all. Well, here's your long-overdue update, and you can thank me later for it. I'll wait!
You see, from the moment we pop out of dear Mum's lower part as babies, we are expected to make some kind of cry—belch, fart, or, with demonic eyes, stick one finger up at the midwife while reciting the Bible backwards in baby talk — and thus, everything that follows is also an expectation as we journey through life.
Basic Life skills (given some latitude, of course) -
Go to University (preferably one that bankrupts your parents or saddles you with crippling debt until you die).
Look left and right when crossing a road (but not too carefully, or you'll never get anywhere).
Eat your food with a knife, fork, and spoon (unless it's pizza, in which case savagery is encouraged).
Get a job (that you'll likely hate but will make you just enough money to survive).
Get married and bear offspring (because societal pressure trumps personal choice).
Go to church or temple to believe in some random God/deity (or risk eternal damnation, just in case).
Read (preferably something highbrow to impress your more intellectual friends - if you have any).
Write (an angry letter to the editor about something that mildly inconveniences you).
Buy a home (that you'll spend the next 30 years, or more paying off).
Drive a car (that will inevitably break down at the worst possible moment).
Maintain a meticulously curated social media presence (to prove to everyone how amazing your life is).
Keep up with the latest fashion trends (even if they make you look ridiculous).
Learn a new skill or hobby (that you'll never have time to pursue).
Travel to exotic locations (and take selfies to prove you were there).
Stay informed about current events (so you can complain about them intelligently).
Save for retirement (which you'll probably never reach anyway).
Die (preferably after a long and fulfilling life, but no guarantees).
That's quite a comprehensive list already. But, in this modern age of the computer, and social media, there are a few additions:
Keep up with the Kardashians: Know their names, relationship statuses, and latest business ventures. Bonus points if you can explain their cultural impact, or reason they exist in the first place!
Perfect the 'humblebrag': Casually mention your accomplishments in a way that sounds self-deprecating but is actually just showing off. "Oh, this old thing? It's just a limited edition designer handbag I picked up on a whim while holidaying in the Maldives."
Become a social media influencer (micro or otherwise): Document your every meal, outfit, and thought for the amusement of strangers. Learn the art of the perfectly filtered selfie.
Learn to assemble the IKEA furniture you bought online without losing your sanity: Bonus points if you can do it without consulting the instructions.
Master the art of the 'reply-all' email: Accidentally send a personal message to your entire company, then spend the next hour apologising profusely for the nude shot meant for Bonnie, in accounting.
Achieve inbox zero: A mythical state of being where all your emails are read, answered, and archived. Some say it's impossible, like catching a unicorn.
Become proficient in at least three different social media platforms: Know the difference between a 'story', a 'reel', and a 'tweet'. Be able to explain TikTok dances to your grandparents.
Perfect the 'Zoom face': That slightly-too-close-up angle that makes you look vaguely like a hostage video participant.
Master the art of small talk: Be able to discuss the weather, local sports teams, and the latest viral cat video with equal enthusiasm, even if you couldn't care less.
Maintain a perfectly curated social media presence: Document every "Insta-worthy" moment, even if it means staging elaborate photoshoots of your avocado toast.
Become an expert at navigating automated phone systems: Learn the secret codes to bypass endless menus and speak to a real human (eventually) when everything on the site baffles the hell out of you.
Learn to decipher corporate jargon: Translate phrases like "synergistic solutions" and "thinking outside the box" into plain English (or at least pretend to understand them).
Become a connoisseur of "life hacks": Discover the optimal way to fold a fitted sheet, peel a mango, or unclog a drain using only household items. Such as, your soon-to-be ex-partner's toothbrush.
Become a master of the perfectly timed "like" on social media: Show just the right amount of support for your friends' posts without seeming too eager or stalkerish.
Learn to feign interest in other people's vacation photos: Even if they spent the entire time at an all-inclusive resort and all the pictures look the same.
And of course, let's not forget the most important expectation of all:
Keep up with the ever-changing expectations of society: Because just when you think you've mastered the rules, they change again!
And if all that wasn't enough to send you off towards the local shrink, finally, there's this!
Ah, the modern shopper's dilemma! A little look at the tightrope walk between in-person shopping and online retail:
In-Person Shopping:
The Quest for Parking: A strategic game of VR-vehicular war, where the ultimate prize is a space just far enough away to build character, but close enough to avoid a spontaneous combustion of rage.
The Retail Centre Ambiance: A carefully curated symphony of Muzak, the gentle hum of fluorescent lights, and the distant cries of a child who has just discovered the true meaning of delayed gratification.
The Changing Room Challenge: A claustrophobic booth where you contort your body into shapes previously unknown to humankind, all while battling questionable lighting and the lingering scent of someone else's body odour.
The Checkout queue: A slow, agonising trudge towards the promised land of purchase, where you contemplate the meaning of life, the universe, and the ever-increasing number of self-checkout points. And then you get the one person paying entirely in loose change.
The Joy of Hauling: The triumphant march back to your means of transport, laden with bags that somehow weigh more than you do, feeling like a pack mule who has just won a small but significant battle against consumerism. Until you remember you have to go up three flights of stairs.
Human Interaction: The potential for awkward small talk with a cashier who is just trying to survive their shift, or the thrill of finding a sales associate who actually knows where the thing you're looking for might be. (Spoiler: it's probably in the back.)
Online Shopping:
The Endless Scroll: A hypnotic journey through an infinite digital landscape of products you never knew you needed, until the algorithm tells you otherwise.
The Review Rabbit Hole: A deep dive into the opinions of strangers whose qualifications for judging products are questionable at best, but their passionate rants are strangely compelling. "This spatula changed my life!" Okay, Jan.
The Cart of Dreams: A digital holding pen for all the items you're "seriously considering," which magically multiplies in size every time you visit the site. It's like a digital hoarder's paradise.
The Shipping Anxiety: The agonising wait for your package to arrive, punctuated by constant tracking updates and the creeping suspicion that it's been lost in the Bermuda Triangle of postal services.
The Unboxing Ceremony: The ritualistic unveiling of your online treasures, complete with the satisfying rip of packaging tape and the inevitable disappointment when the item looks slightly different in person. (Usually smaller.)
The Return Saga: The bureaucratic nightmare of printing return labels, repackaging items with the same level of care they arrived in (impossible), and trekking to the post office, only to have the return take approximately 3-5 business years to process.
The Tyranny of Targeted Ads: The constant reminder that your every online move is being tracked and analysed, as you're bombarded with ads for the very thing you just looked at, even after you bought it. "Yes, I bought the ergonomic keyboard! Please stop reminding me!"
Now, can you understand why I have sleepless nights?
So, onward we trudge, burdened by the twin yokes of polite desperation and consumerist frenzy. We must smile serenely at the cashier whose barcode scanner hasn't worked since 1997, all while internally screaming about the impending doom of late-stage capitalism. We must craft thoughtful, nuanced opinions on geopolitical events between bites of a lukewarm microwave meal, because, heaven forbid, we might be caught unawares at the next impromptu dinner party debate. And, of course, we must maintain a credit score higher than our IQ, so we can purchase the very things that are slowly killing us, both physically and financially. After all, what's the point of a well-furnished coffin if you can't finance it over 60 months with a reasonable APR?
Thus, armed with our reusable shopping bags (emblazoned with ironic slogans, naturally) and our carefully curated online personas, we stumble towards that blessed, six-foot-deep release. We'll leave behind a meticulously documented trail of polite emails, perfectly angled Instagram posts showcasing our 'experiences' (read: overpriced holidays), and enough unread think pieces on the "decline of Western civilisation" to fill a landfill. And as the last shovelful of earth thuds onto our biodegradable, ethically sourced casket, we can finally relax, secure in the knowledge that we played the game, we paid the bills, and we never, ever, told anyone what we really thought.