Older, but no wiser
Andy Borrows' musings on life and all its confusion, contradictions, richness and opportunities
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Expectation
[Disclaimer: The views expressed herein are not necessarily those of the author. Any resemblance to persons alive, dead, or in any imtermediate state, is entirely coincidental. Maybe.]
"A cynic is an idealist who made the mistake of translating his ideals into expectations."
- source unknown
You become who I think you are; I become who I think I ought to be; I appear to be who you think I am. Each locked into a narrow channel of expectation; a universe of possible selves abandoned, left weak without exercise, malnourished and shrivelled without nurture.
You only have eyes for the image of the person you think you see before you; obligingly, I hide all else from you. I, too, see only the projection of the person who exists in my mind, hear only the words in my head echoing back to me.
Together, our expectations write the script and set the stage; we are characters in our own play; puppet and puppeteer both.
Who are you? Who am I? Will we ever know; each other or ourselves?
In the face of Expectation, truth flees behind a mask. All around me dance characters at a masked ball; I no more know who hides behind their masks than they know who hides behind mine. How can they, when I have forgotten myself? If, indeed, I ever knew.
This mask has many makers; many hands have crafted and moulded, hacked and chipped it's form. Chief among them, perhaps, are my own. Some hands have worked with love for their creation, some with indifference towards it; some with enthusiasm for their work, some with derision for the result. Whether formed through caring or capriciousness, their creation remains artificial, unreal, alive only by virtue of the breath it sucks from the wearer.
Expectation sets a path from which I can no more stray than if my feet were manacled to a line that stretches it's length from horizon to horizon; birth to death. Sometimes I mourn, I grieve for the loss of who I might have been, had not Expectation dragged my soul down a path not of it's own choosing.
Be aware what you expect of others, you hold power over their very selves; beware what they expect of you, lest it come to pass.
"A cynic is an idealist who made the mistake of translating his ideals into expectations."
- source unknown
You become who I think you are; I become who I think I ought to be; I appear to be who you think I am. Each locked into a narrow channel of expectation; a universe of possible selves abandoned, left weak without exercise, malnourished and shrivelled without nurture.
You only have eyes for the image of the person you think you see before you; obligingly, I hide all else from you. I, too, see only the projection of the person who exists in my mind, hear only the words in my head echoing back to me.
Together, our expectations write the script and set the stage; we are characters in our own play; puppet and puppeteer both.
Who are you? Who am I? Will we ever know; each other or ourselves?
In the face of Expectation, truth flees behind a mask. All around me dance characters at a masked ball; I no more know who hides behind their masks than they know who hides behind mine. How can they, when I have forgotten myself? If, indeed, I ever knew.
This mask has many makers; many hands have crafted and moulded, hacked and chipped it's form. Chief among them, perhaps, are my own. Some hands have worked with love for their creation, some with indifference towards it; some with enthusiasm for their work, some with derision for the result. Whether formed through caring or capriciousness, their creation remains artificial, unreal, alive only by virtue of the breath it sucks from the wearer.
Expectation sets a path from which I can no more stray than if my feet were manacled to a line that stretches it's length from horizon to horizon; birth to death. Sometimes I mourn, I grieve for the loss of who I might have been, had not Expectation dragged my soul down a path not of it's own choosing.
Be aware what you expect of others, you hold power over their very selves; beware what they expect of you, lest it come to pass.
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