Expectations

The COVID-19 pandemic has sucked. If you think you’re right, you’re probably wrong. If you think you’re wrong, you’re probably right. I’m probably… whatever.

Our polarizing approaches to this pandemic have made families stop talking, friendships dissolve, and so many adults set examples that should embarrass any juvenile.

I’ve been disappointed. I expected more and couldn’t figure out why. I got depressed. I got annoyed with my depression. Having young boys at home is loud. I started struggling with sensory inputs, and my wife suggested I talk to someone about it. In early 2020, I saw an ad for BetterHelp.com and decided to start therapy.

In 2021, I was diagnosed with ASD (outdated synonyms include autistic, high-functioning autism, Aspergers, etc.). Although late, my diagnosis was a gift and helped me better understand so many complexities about myself and the world around me (more on that later).

The pandemic wasn’t a small change.

Everyone had to transition to a “new normal.”

According to the diagnostic bible (the DSM-5), some people with ASD experience “extreme distress at small changes” and “difficulties with transitions.” I don’t feel like I usually have extreme distress with small changes — unless I have expectations.

Expectations fuel disappointment. Expectations fuel entitlement. I expected communities and friends to respect each other.

Society’s breakdown of maturity and its willingness to throw out the plausibility of truth in favor of confirmation bias forced me to reanalyze my view of the world and how to remain happy in it. That was a long sentence.

I started thinking more about this whole expectations thing for myself. Sadly, I discovered I’m not a fortuneteller, and the more I act like one, the more disappointed I am. I can’t control the outcome, but I can control the actions I take to get closer to my literal and figurative destinations.