Does anyone remember that segment from MAD TV with unfortunate-looking people in search of a boyfriend/girlfriend called “Lowered Expectations”? I love the opening scene when it shows that overweight couple walking along the beach in thrift store clothing… Anyways, that reminded me of a little “life tip” that I received a few years ago. My most favorite boss back in London once told me that the secret to being happy is to stop expecting everything in life to be exactly how you’ve always wanted it to be. That people are only depressed and bitter when they go through life, believing that fairy tales exist. Since I’m someone who prides themselves on never settling, I ignored that statement for awhile; but now, I think there’s a difference between settling and altering your expectations. Exhibit A:
Once upon a time, there was this guy who I thought was the most perfect thing I had ever seen. Seriously… the Statue of David had NOTHING on him. He was tall, dark, handsome, buff as hell– oh! And he was a combination jock/singer/really good dancer. Sure, he was five years older than me, but whatever. I wanted to marry that guy right then and there at the age of 12. And for the longest time, he was the standard to which I measured every other guy I met. That led to nothing but disappointment, since no guy I’ve met so far has ever looked as good as THAT guy did when I first saw him. Fast forward to today. I see Mister Right’s name pop up on Facebook randomly (I guess we have some mutual friends), so I click on his name to see if it was the same guy. Yep. Same gorgeous eyes, same smile. But there were about three extra chins. I guess over the past eleven years or so, my imaginary husband has packed on two…three hundred pounds…? And that sucks. For over a decade, I had this guy imprinted in my mind as the most perfect guy there could ever be, only for that vision of him to be ruined by reality, gravity, and probably a lot of Hostess cupcakes. In my mind, I have divorced him.
So why was I disappointed? Probably because I basically idolized some guy without realizing that life is a bitch and things aren’t always as good as they seem. Even when they ARE as good as they seem, things won’t necessarily stay that way forever. My boss, therefore, was right. You can’t expect perfection out of life or a single person, because you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Okay, maybe a tiny percentage of me still believes in that metaphorical knight in shining armor who rescues you from your horrible life and presents you with a pair of Manolo Blahnik strappy sandals, then whisks you away to a beach to play with dolphins (mind you, this is MY fairy tale… the islander version…). But being real, that’s never going to happen. Most straight guys don’t even know who Manolo Blahnik is. Sure, a lot of us girls would love a boyfriend/husband who does the extra “little” things to show that they care, or one who sends you flowers on special days (or just because they wanted to make you happy), or a guy who just gets it. But after so many years wishing for that kind of guy, I’ve realized that I need to stop hoping for all that. Since society has evolved, males have become such douche bags, that they are now considered to be exceptional partners as long as they don’t cheat, and as long as they remember to always wear deodorant– now THAT is depressing. Realistically, I could probably find a near-perfect guy who does romantic things on a daily basis… but they’ll probably already be in a relationship… with another guy. And the fact that I’ve received more flowers from guys who I did NOT ever date just shows that most guys will only try hard if they’re trying to get in your pants. So with that, I’ve decided to buy my own damn flowers and my own shiny designer shoes. That doesn’t mean I’m settling, because I’m still getting what I want– I’ve simply “lowered my expectations” a bit, since it is obvious that the only person a girl can depend on nowadays is herself. And if I keep setting myself up for disappointment and wait around for some guy to sweep me off my feet, then this is going to be me in ten years: