The Power of Expectations

We are an intensely social species. From the moment we are born to the moment we die we rely on other people for our survival and well-being. Our survival instincts are closely connected to our social needs and behaviours and one of our deepest needs is to belong: to someone, to a family, a group, a society, a country, … Our sense of safety and well-being is so strongly tied to the groups we identify with that being thrown out of any of those groups is traumatic and painful, mentally comparable to the amputation of a limb or other physical injury. Our hearts break when a loved one dies or breaks up with us; we get sick with loneliness and homesickness when we are separated from our families and homes for too long; our immune systems fail us when we feel isolated, alienated and unwanted. We need to belong to something to survive.

Human beings, being both smart and adaptable, have developed many different ways of building social structures and keeping them together. We have stories, rules and rituals; physical markers such as tattoos, scarring, paint and clothes; physical barriers such as walls, moats and boundaries; all ways to strengthen the bonds between the people inside the group and set them off against and protect them from everybody else.

Social bonds – even those fortified and propped up by cultural means – may be strong but they are not unbreakable. In fact, because of the complexity of human interaction, with our many layers of feelings, emotions, motivators and believes, coupled with a deep-seated tension between the needs of the individual and the needs of the collective, the bonds we form are never completely certain, are tested often, and can break quite dramatically and suddenly. This volatility of our social bonds puts a constant pressure on us. We cannot afford to ignore it, lest we miss some subtle change in the attitude of those around us and find ourself suddenly on the wrong side of a social shift. So we are constantly on edge, socially speaking, gathering intelligence from our own social interactions and those we observe around us to gauge how secure we sit in the groups we identify with. This is why we gossip and love talking about other people behind their backs, this is why we love comparing notes with our friends about what’s hot and what’s not. This underlies the addictive nature of getting likes on Facebook and posting selfies and pictures of our breakfast on Instagram. We are constantly testing if we are still part of our ‘in’ crowd, if we are still safely within the bounds of what our own groups find acceptable.

But we don’t just need to know whether we are still acceptable and accepted, we actually need to anticipate the shifting moods and favours of the crowds we hang with and the people we depend on. To make sure we remain part of our social safety network we need to know what is expected of us. We need to know how other people see us and expect us to behave. We need to understand the subtle signals our peers use to show they are part of the same group. We need to know this in enough detail and depth to enable us to live up to other peoples’ perception of us, so we don’t surprise them or disappoint them, which could cause them to reject us and leave us isolated and alone.

This need to live up to how other people perceive us is the power of expectation.

Because being accepted by others is so intimately interwoven with our deepest survival instincts we all constantly monitor other people – especially those that are important to us – to work out what they expect us to be like and then model ourselves to those expectations, so as not to disappoint them. We all don the masks others like us to wear to avoid exposing sides of us that could cause them to turn against us.

Mutual expectations: I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine (c) Bard Papegaaij

This is not a conscious process, at least for the vast majority of people. Almost all of us constantly and seamlessly adapt our public personae to the expectations of the people we interact with without thinking about it; without even being aware of doing it. It is an almost completely automatic process that is always on, subtly (or not so subtly) modifying our behaviours to closely match the model other people have constructed in their minds of who we are.

We should not mistake this for a deliberate deceit. The personae we adopt in our social interactions are not roles we consciously play to fool those around us. It is almost the other way round: those personae – the versions of us other people expect to see when they interact with us – play us in a very real sense of the word. They do not just regulate our behaviours, they also influence our thoughts and perceptions. Our social personae influence our emotional responses and mental models. They cause us to think like the character we’re inhabiting, notice what that character would notice and ignore what that character would prefer not to see. Experiments have shown that under peer pressure people will subconsciously change what they believe to be true in order not to fall out of sync with those around them. In other words: we tend to become what other people expect us to be.

Does that mean we are powerless in the presence of others? Does it mean we are simply doomed to play variations of ourselves dictated by other people’s perception of us? Are we really, then, just actors on other peoples’ stages, doomed to play the parts others hand to us, helplessly repeating the lines they want us to utter?

Not necessarily! There is a way we can use the power of expectations to our advantage, and must do so if we want to take control of our mission in life. That way starts by realising that other people’s expectations of us are not a given but arise and evolve over the time we are in contact with them. The are not static but fluid, subject to change and influenced by many factors, some of which we can actually control or at least strongly direct to our own purpose and intentions. From the very first impression people have of us – which is often shaped before they actually meet us, based on hearsay, gossip, and other publicly available information about us – to the much more detailed and more firmly embedded mental models they construct about us as they see us more often and observe us in much more detail: what other people expect from us is partially of their own making, and partially shaped by how we present ourselves to them.

If we are not aware of this expectation mechanism it can easily become a self-reinforcing forward-feeding loop: people’s expectations of us cause us to behave in accordance with those expectations, which confirms what they expected, strengthening their mental model of us, making it even harder for us not to live up to it. If we are not careful we can get caught up in this dance of expectations and expected responses that we end up portraying and bringing to life a fictional version of who we are, rather than expressing our true nature and authentic behaviour. If we do this all the time, we have become ‘domesticated’: we forget we even have an authentic self, and would feel lost and incapable of action if the expectations that guide us would all of a sudden disappear.

If we are aware, however, and we understand the pressure those expectations exert on us, we can harness their power and use them to our advantage.

To do this we must first of all have our own expectations about ourselves clearly defined and very clear in our minds in every interaction we have with the people around us. Instead of accepting other people’s version of us, we need to work on our authentic version: the fiction closest to who we want to be, and how we want to be seen. We must imagine every encounter with other people as an opportunity to show them that authentic version and prepare ourselves to act, speak, and embody that version of ourself so consistently and convincingly that the people we interact with have no choice but to adjust their expectations and mental model of you to what you portray. Paradoxically, to counteract the forces of expectations pushing us away from being our authentic self, we have to practice and rehearse being authentic until it becomes spontaneous again. This is the ultimate form of method acting: playing the role of who you want to be until you are no longer playing it.

Getting the role right of being ourself is especially important for that first face to face meeting with people. People will have some expectations about our behaviour before they actually meet us, based on publicly available information, but that initial mental model will be rather sketchy and tentative. By providing them with clear, convincing and consistent behaviours in those first crucial moments of that first meeting we have a reasonable chance to shape their expectations of us to closely match how we want them to see us. And once those expectations are in place, to be our authentic self, instead of having to fight against unwanted expectations, all we have to do is meet what is expected of us, which works to everyone’s benefit: we don’t have to fight unwelcome expectations, and they feel much more comfortable because we keep behaving the way they expect us to.

That, in a nutshell, is the power of expectations: setting them right at the start of our interactions with people and carefully maintaining them to ensure that what people expect of us is what we want them to expect will make those expectations a powerful force to help us along on our journey and live more closely the narrative we desire to live; letting those expectations build up by themselves and ignoring them in how we behave around people that matter to us can easily turn that same force into an opposing one that will try to push us back into those other people’s narratives rather than allowing us to live our own story.

The River

6 – Awakening

Awakening - (c) Bard 2018
Awakening – (c) Bard 2018

After many months have passed in which the snow though often changing was a constant cover of anything below, one morning brings something new to this mostly silent world. Starting in the places most exposed to the Sun the water kept dormant in its icy state begins to awaken. Drops begin to fall, softly into the snow, or ringing more clearly on the barren rock. As the Sun rises and its warmth penetrates deeper into the snow, water collects in tiny streams and the sound of water running amidst the snow and over the rocks grows in strength until the constant and permanent silence of the frozen landscape is replaced by the constantly changing but equally permanent murmuring of the water excitedly talking to itself and whatever it runs up against.

What Is Your Story?

It’s easy to feel powerless in this vast and complex world of ours. After all, we are only small individuals out of billions of people. How would we ever think to have any significant impact? More often than not we let ourselves be moved along the currents of the world around us, without really thinking about where they might be taking us. We feel we are lost in a rapid of fast flowing events and random moments, and should be lucky to just keep our heads above the water. And even when we feel lucky to be alive, there’s still this constant nagging feeling that there should be more to life; that this frantic struggle to survive cannot be the sum total of what our life is about. Even when we are relatively successful and come out on top, if all we do is staving off the inevitable end a bit longer, it leaves us with a deep-felt sense of unease and lack of fulfilment.

It doesn’t have to be like this. We don’t have to feel powerless, directionless, and empty. Even when thrown about by the raging waters of life and pulled inexorably forward, we can make choices. More choices, in fact, than we can imagine. Life’s waters are complex, chaotic even, which means there are many moments where possible futures branch off from the mainstream; where even a slight change of direction can lead us to somewhere completely different. It’s in those moments of divergence – the places where one stream becomes 2 or many – that our choices lie. Where the present has many futures, it’s our act of choosing – deliberate, conscious choosing – where we can make a difference. Choice is the power each and every one of us has over the infinite complexity we participate in.

To wield that power with purpose, that’s what gives our lives fulfilment. To experience how we bring about a different future than the one we thought we were caught up in, that’s what make us feel we matter. And to make our choices deliberately, with forethought and as much consideration as possible – even when fully aware that we can only know so much and see so little of what those choices will lead to – that’s what gives us a sense of direction.

To get there we must practice three things: awareness, sense of direction and strength of purpose. With those strengths at hand we can turn our choices into deliberate ones: each choice, however small and seemingly insignificant, a tiny stepping stone on the path that leads us forward to a future of our own making. Deliberate, considered, conscious choice enables us to ride the raging river of life and use its power and speed to our advantage. Deliberate choice transforms us from helpless castaways desperately clinging to driftwood and straws into pilots of out own destiny – working with the river not fighting against it, accepting its vagaries and rapids as gifts and opportunities.

Do we use the river or does the river use us?
Do we use the river or does the river use us?

Making our choices deliberate ones requires a guiding framework: something to help us assess our options and select the ones most likely to progress us on the path we choose to travel. We need a belief-system, with values, goals and priorities. Growing up, there are plenty of belief-systems on offer: the cultural constructs of our families, peers, co-workers, teachers, bosses, politicians, religious leaders, …. If we passively adopt what those others offer us – without question or challenge – our choices are theirs, not ours, but they will be applied to our life and steer it where others want it to go.

To really make our choices our own, we need to go on a journey first; a journey into our own feelings, emotions, traumas, habits … That is a journey of discovery, discernment, adjustment, and focus. Do it well, and we will emerge with a belief system that is now truly ours. It will suit our temperament, it will fit us like a well-tailored suit, and most of all it will facilitate a sense of flow, a sense of synchronicity, when we decide and act in harmony with it, and the world starts to arrange itself accordingly.

When we find that momentum and use our choices to carry us forward on our chosen journey, that’s when we become the authors of our own life’s narrative. That’s when we can say “This Is My Story – I wrote this and I live this”.

The River

5 – Waiting

Waiting (c) Bard 2018
Waiting (c) Bard 2018

Covering the Earth in silence the snow waits patiently for the future to unfold. Nothing much happens at first: days turn to nights turn to days again. An occasional passing animal makes deep tracks in the mostly unbroken whiteness; tracks that are covered by freshly fallen snow soon after. Sometimes storms arrive to rage against the mountains. The howling winds move the blankets of snow up and down like sand dunes in the desert, tearing down ridges and forming new slopes. But once the winds die down, tired and spent – even though the landscape has been transformed completely – the snow looks as untouched and serene as before: soft, silent, motionless.

Can I Borrow Some of Your Culture?

I have seen quite a few rather angry debates online lately about the concept of ‘cultural appropriation’ – apparently people that grew up in a particular culture get upset when people from outside that culture publicly display symbols, artefacts, clothing and rituals they ‘have no right to’, being outsiders and not part of the culture they are displaying. Can anyone really claim to ‘own’ a culture? Does it make sense to demand of others to stay away from elements of cultures they didn’t grow up in?

We all grow up in one culture or other. Being human, our ‘natural’ environment – the one we evolved to adapt to – is the culture of the people we grew up with. Even though it may feel we are born to the culture we belong to, there is no known genetic predisposition for any particular culture. Any newborn, from anywhere in the world, when it is immediately placed in another culture than that of its parents, will grow up belonging as much to that particular culture as any of its peers. In other words, culture is acquired: learned and internalised through the continuous exposure to the beliefs, assumptions, and behaviours of those around us.

This means cultures are shared: it’s only through other people that a culture exists that we can belong to together. And cultures are diffuse : while it may have been true in ancient times that cultures could exist in near-perfect isolation, almost all of humanity is in contact with other cultures nowadays and elements of those other cultures get assimilated over time; either indirectly through stories, regular contact, the need to co-exist, or more directly through inter-marriage and other forms of people more or less permanently joining a culture other than the one they grew up in.

Humans have always traveled, it seems, and in our travels we have had to adapt to wildly different circumstances. Our ability to create cultures was a crucial skill in this process, as it enabled us to learn from each other and rapidly share, refine and scale crucial survival skills across our groups and communities. But with all that traveling and trading we did, the inevitable process of cultural learning has led to the continuous exchange of ideas, memes, beliefs, practices and behaviours. Even cultures that have remained fairly isolated over thousands of years show traces of cultural exchanges with tribes or travellers they have occasionally interacted with, either through direct contact, or through stories and objects brought back by scouts and travellers coming back after venturing far from home.

So can any element of a culture actually be exclusively claimed by a single group? Or is culture by its very nature a treasure trove of human adaptation and learning, intended for and of potential benefit to anyone genuinely interested in the wisdom each culture has to offer?

I certainly would like to think so. But I also understand that the way culture and identity are intimately interconnected can cause an emotional reaction in people.

Our history knows may examples of people that were overpowered and overrun by other cultures. Very often the conquered people had little choice: either adapt to the new rulers and try to blend in, or vanish completely. Culturally, the effect is the same: blend in long enough and there may not be enough left of a culture to distinguish the conquered people from their conquerers. The people may survive, but their culture dies.

I think that distress about other people ‘appropriating’ cultural elements is actually the distress of people that fear – rightly or not – they are at the losing end of a cultural assimilation process. We can’t deny that the globalisation that Western Europe unleashed upon the Earth in the past 600 years or so has not been particularly beneficial to many (if any) of the non-European cultures that came under the yoke of the colonising powers. Local cultures were seen as primitive and inferior, and either violently suppressed or systematically ridiculed, marginalised and discouraged. At the same time, artefacts, symbols, ideas, fashion, and even habits and behaviours of those ‘inferior’ cultures were shamelessly stolen, copied, twisted, parodied and then incorporated into the dominant culture as if they had invented or created these things themselves. I can fully understand the anger and frustration downtrodden and marginalised people feel when they not only see their autonomy, dignity, and quality of life being taken away, but at the same time have to watch on as the very things they define their cultural identity and their life’s purpose and meaning by are publicly displayed and copied by people who don’t even try to understand the true meaning and significance of what they are appropriating.

I understand, I truly do. And I would be the last one to want to inflict such anger and frustration on people. I am fortunate enough to have been born on the privileged side of the human divide – being European, white, educated and (relatively) rich. I do acknowledge that many of those privileges were created through the wilful and systematic destruction and theft of the wealth of other people by the previous generations of the society I am, by birth, a part of. So I don’t want to add insult to injury by digging through those other peoples’ cultural treasures to shamelessly take whatever I think is useful of interesting to me. That would be disrespectful. And it would be wrong.

Nevertheless, I am a lifelong seeker of wisdom and enlightenment. I know there is profound wisdom to be found in the many cultures of this world: deep, life-changing, time-honoured wisdom in many different forms. And I would love to learn of this wisdom, try to understand and fathom its depths, and learn from it, so I can be a better human being because of it. That’s all I am asking for. Or is that inappropriate too?

I do have a suggestion that may help change the perspective of those that feel they need to protect the essence of their cultural heritage from outsiders. Maybe it’s possible to separate your own experience of your culture – how you live it, use it, obey its rules, and contribute to its continued existence – from how outsiders experience it. Maybe you can come to see that sharing your culture with others doesn’t mean you are losing it, or diminishing its value. Even if those others completely misunderstand it and use or abuse it in inappropriate ways, that doesn’t reduce your culture’s wisdom and value to you and your community. That can never be taken away from you. That inner experience is unalienable yours. It’s your birthright.

And there is an even more hopeful perspective. There are examples in history of empire-building cultures that absorb so much of the cultures they conquered that they can hardly be called the same culture after they won their wars of conquest. The Mongols became Chinese in China, Muslim in Persia, and unmistakingly Indian in India. As long as there are enough people left to carry on their cultural traditions and transmit their cultural wisdom, the process of cultural exchange can work both ways, resulting in a new culture that combines both the conquered and the conquerors into a brand new culture that the original conquerors would hardly recognise themselves in.

Having recently traveled through Egypt to look at the ancient ruins that can be found all through the land there, two of my favourite examples of conquerors blending in with the people they conquered are the Nubians from Egypt’s southern borders taking over the country, in the process becoming almost more Egyptian than the Egyptians, while still maintaining some of their own traditions, and the Ptolemy’s, the Greek conquerors ending with the famous Cleopatra, who may have seen themselves as essentially Greek but adopted so many of the ancient Egyptian beliefs and practices it is hard for us modern people to see their Greekness; they look much more Egyptian than Greek to us.

How Greek is this Egyptian Temple?
How Greek is this Egyptian Temple?

So, before you argue your cultural heritage is yours, and yours alone, and should be kept safe from those who would appropriate it without having any right to it, consider this: maybe by giving outsiders access to your cultural wisdom you are not diminishing your self or your culture, but spreading it and extending its influence. Maybe, by letting elements of what your people learned over countless centuries infiltrate into the often shallow and short-sighted thought-systems of your oppressors, you are changing them, slowly, imperceptibly but inexorably, until they have become a different people altogether. Maybe this can be your revenge on those who so ruthlessly conquered and cruelly oppressed you: that their own progeny, their children’s children’s grandchildren, become nothing like their ancestors, and would not want to be seen to be like them. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate victory? That they who thought they could conquer and vanquish you through sheer force and violence, are instead conquered and vanquished by your patient and continuous infusion of their culture with the wisdom they so sadly lacked, until they – not you – become nothing but a minor and questionable footnote in our future history?

The River

4 – Falling

Falling - (c) Bard 2017
Falling – (c) Bard 2017

Where the mountains are high enough the clouds cool below the point of freezing. Tiny crystals form as liquid water turns into intricate six-starred jewels of ice. As if awed by this beautiful transformation the winds stop their rush upwards and lose momentum. Softly and playfully dancing the new-formed snow begins to fall. Hesitant at first, a few flakes at a time but gradually thickening into shimmering sheets of falling dust and feathers, the snow begins to cover the ground it falls on, until it covers it completely under its thick white silent blanket.

The River

3 – Rising

Rising - (c) Bard 2017
Rising – (c) Bard 2017

As the clouds reach the coast, storm-like winds push more and more of them onto the shoreline, where they are compressed against the mountain range that has been watching over the ocean since this continent was first created. Resisting at first, the clouds give in to the constant pushing winds and ascend against the mountainsides. As they rise their temperature falls causing the vapour to thicken. From microscopic droplets the water turns into tiny raindrops, less gaseous, more liquid, but still buoyed up by the buffeting winds that chase them up against the mountains.