Why Do We Expect
Why do we want things from one another? We struggle for power and we struggle in love. And so the truth is we struggle. It is in the nature of our desires to expect—to expect something from experience that is yet to come in the future and by extension, to expect something from one another. Our ideas of our future harmony lies in expectation from one another. But yet, there are many caveats.
I find it sad to think how far we go in our desires from one another. If we have, for example, two people who live by each other’s expectations and forego any kind of special behaviour and individuality then we have a kind of harmony that is based on keeping one another happy. But here is one caveat: In the final analysis, the expectation we have of another is a form of our individuality, an extension of the way we see ourselves—because how else do we assume what we want from another?
Is this merely what we are taught? Yes and no. For if it were only what we were taught and we were true copycats then we would all want the same thing from one another—strangely, that would make things easier. But we all want a different flavour from one another and that kind of flavour is what we have constructed from social cues and our cultural environment. We filter and choose from what other people have expected of us, what we have expected from other people and their reactions on whether they complied or not.
What works for us is not what works for other people and thus here is the struggle. An antidote to this struggle mentioned commonly in society is compromise. We must aim as people to find a settlement, an agreement or a reconciliation that brings us together once again. Whether we do this in society or in our private lives with family or lovers, there is a negotiation we must undergo to give up our demands, submit to the other’s demands or ask them to submit to ours in favour of something they might want too.
This back and forth goes on and we find the constant struggle of the expectation-compromise cycle is keeping us busy. But the question I want to ask is: can we ever be free of our expectations from one another?
When we expect something from others, we often reduce them to an object serving our needs, rather than encountering them as a complete being whose existence transcends our desires—even our understanding. Our expectations transform the sacred mystery of another person into a function, a means to our ends. Martin Buber writes, “When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them.”
Erich Fromm in ‘The Art of Loving’, reminds us that love is not a possession but an active force that requires care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge. In his work he distinguishes between having and being—where expectations treat relationships as transactions in the mode of having, while true connection exists in the mode of being. To truly love someone is not to expect them to fulfil our needs but for us to actively participate in their growth while maintaining our own integrity. This perspective challenges our modern tendency to approach relationships as contracts where expectations must be met to maintain harmony.
To be free of expecting, one must be free of desire. For everything we want in the future is an expectation and to accomplish it, more often than not, we need people to do it for us. In today’s age we are in a unique position where we can accomplish many things for ourselves using technology and we need not expect from people but only our devices, which comply so regularly. But when our phones don’t do as we want or our laptops malfunction in their programming we are frustrated—much like we are frustrated with other people.
We are also shielded by our screens from the reality of technology. It is not autonomous, it is made by other people. There are millions of people updating and keeping the software we use everyday functioning. There are many more who are tirelessly manufacturing more devices that are constantly trickling into the marketplace and eventually into our homes and pockets. Yes, even if they’re getting paid for it and making money from their activities does not preclude the fact that there are people on the other end of your screens. You are not an isolated entity.
The advent of social media has complicated our expectations further, creating new forms of anticipation and disappointment. We not only expect others to respond to our messages instantly but also to perform relationships publicly in ways that validate our digital personae. Studies show that people check their phones over 96 times daily—once every 10 minutes—often seeking the dopamine rush of connection and validation. Each notification creates a microburst of expectation: who has responded? Who has acknowledged me? This cycle of digital expectation makes us constantly want to project into the future, making it more and more difficult to remain present with what is, rather than what might be.
So in the end, when we expect we end up expecting from people. There seems to be no way out of this. Self-sufficiency is mostly an illusion unless one is a farmer and tilling the land to meet bare necessities. Food, shelter and occasional company is what we all need. In that company, however, we find the roots of expectation. Similarly, the farmer ‘expects’ the land to offer food in return for their efforts. But there’s a small difference. The farmer knows if the land is not treated properly, if it isn’t respected then we have a poor harvest or worse, crop failure.
The farmer knows not to expect more than one can hope for, and yet knows still to respect the land for what it provides—treating it almost with a reverence we find uncommon in our society. What if we were also to adopt the farmer’s attitude? What if we were to treat each other as fertile soils that could only provide a limited amount of harvest each year? What if we saw and respected each other as soils of different quality and composition, suitable for different crops and at different times of the season? What if, like the farmer, we rotated our expectations from one another like the farmer rotates crops to keep the land healthy?
Indigenous cultures worldwide offer profound wisdom about reciprocal relationships. The Potawatomi concept of ‘Reciprocity,’ sees humans and nature in a gift economy rather than a market economy. When receiving a gift from the land or another person, the appropriate response isn’t merely taking but giving back in gratitude—a ritual acknowledgment that sustains the relationship. Similarly, the Māori concept of ‘Kaitiakitanga’ embodies guardianship and protection rather than expectation and extraction. These traditions, in their wisdom, refuse to view relationships as transactional. They see them as sacred bonds requiring reverence and care.
In relationships, our expectations might shift from what we can get to what we can nurture. The Japanese practice of ‘fukuoka farming’ or natural farming teaches that the land already knows what to do—our role is not to force production but to create conditions for natural abundance. The farmer who practices patience, observation, and respect discovers that the soil offers more when there are less demands of it. What might our relationships yield if we approached them with the patient attentiveness of a natural farmer rather than the urgent demands of industrial agriculture?
What would that look like? It might look better than it is now. We demand from each other like we demand from our industrial machines, constant production. We demand from each other like we demand from our devices, constant vigilance and constant information. We must always be self-aware, we must always be informed, we must always be productive. If we would treat the land like this, it would be barren in a few seasons, if not less. (This has already been happening to the topsoil in many parts of the world)
So maybe this is happening in society, we are robbing each other the fertility of our souls. All in the name of progress, in the name of economy. In the name of a new god, we have yet to formally worship. We have not only lost respect for the natural processes of life, we have lost an awareness of them. We sit indoors, we work on our screens and we spend our darkness in artificial light and our therapy sessions with artificial intelligence. Is it a wonder we find nothing that is real in this world?
We assume, presume, anticipate and await—expectation always lies in the future. Can we truly expect anything from this one moment that is so real and so absolute in its ephemerality? What if there was no future? Obviously, most of us would panic first, think later. It would indeed be a strange kind of world. In a way, because the future is so uncertain, it does not exist till it arrives. In a way, our expectations are so dependent on the compliance of others that they do not exist until the other agrees. So we do live in a world where there is no future but we are providing ourselves with the mental security of having one.
What if we looked at each other like a transitory moment? Each person is not merely a snapshot but a long story that has arrived up to this point. We can wonder about their past but not yet project their future. We could look at them as they are, true facts alive in this moment. The question would not be of expectation and trying to get something out of them, it would be about respect. An honest observation of a person. Consequently, it would lead us to an honest observation about ourselves.
We could look at the soil of each other’s lives and find ways to share with each other, our gifts and our struggles. The nature of reality is that it is a whole and we can never be truly separated from one another or the elements of life. Any idea of separation is just that—an idea, not reality. We could then see the natural quality of exchange present in all of life. We wouldn’t have to expect so much. We could just respect this natural give and take and thereby each other and life itself.
When we cling to specific outcomes in our relationships, we set ourselves up for disappointment, as reality rarely conforms to our mental projections. Meditation and mindfulness invite us to notice our expectations as they arise—not to eliminate desire completely, which may be impossible, but to hold our desires lightly, with an open palm rather than a closed fist. In this space we may discover what Thich Nhat Hanh calls ‘interbeing’—the profound reality that we are not separate entities with discrete boundaries but interconnected beings who co-create each moment. Our expectations often reinforce the illusion of separation, while presence dissolves it, revealing the natural harmony that exists beneath our projections.
Maybe then we wouldn’t struggle so much. Maybe then could truly enjoy the natural gifts of life and the company of each other.