The Trap of Unmet Expectations

I started Day 7 of my trek in the cool, dry mountain air just east of Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascades. My intention was to ride over 80 miles to the Columbia River where we hoped to find a camping spot or RV Park to spend the night. Looking at the elevation profile for the day’s ride on the Komoot route planning and navigation app that I used, I anticipated a steady downhill ride for most of the day, with a shorter but still steep climb before a rewarding drop from higher elevations down to a place called Vantage on a bluff overlooking the Columbia River.

The Polouse to Cascade State Park Trail descending towards the Yakima River.

Mid-afternoon that day, Joanie and I met up for ice-cream (her) and coffee (me) inside a refreshingly cool shop in Ellensburg, a small city on the Yakima River. Whereas the day before I had climbed up the western flank of the Cascades in the moist air under heavy clouds, east of the Cascades it was a scorcher. The ride from Ellensburg to the Columbia River was the first stretch of road that would become familiar for much of my time in the west: treeless, shadeless, exposed to the wind, a landscape dominated by lifeless brown tones. It was also painful because I soon found myself huffing and puffing up the unshaded road in the 95-degree temperature. But I knew my downhill reward was coming! Indeed, I crested the mountain, tucked my head and soon heard my tires humming with the sweet sound of speed. Yet almost as soon as I reached 30 mph, the wind changed direction, and a strong, sadistic headwind smacked me in the face. The mind joined the body in suffering but now it was tinged with a sense of injustice because I didn’t get my expected reward. (The video linked at the end of this post was shot when I paused for a breather halfway down the mountainside.)

The same thing happened two days later after climbing up Alpowa Summit (2,785 feet) in eastern Washington. This was the first day of chest pain I mentioned in an earlier post, which increased to a bothersome throbbing as I climbed up the sweeping switchbacks to the summit. When I stopped for a breather at the Alpowa rest area, the pain subsided, and I looked forward to an easy descent through the foothills of the Blue Mountains to the Snake River Valley. Yet, once again, a stiff headwind rudely announced its presence, and I had to work hard even though I was descending on gradients of three to four percent. I bitterly railed against the relentless nature of my suffering with an exasperated, “This is so unfair!”

There were other “surprises” that led to disappointment on the trek, such as expecting the terrain to be different, like that onion day when I thought I would continue my downhill trajectory into the Wind River Valley, souring to discover I had to climb what seemed like an endless series of short, steep, unforgiving hills. Or expecting Nebraska to live up to its Cornhusker name and grace me with mercifully flat cornfields (definitely not the case in the northern part of the state).

If there’s a law of anything for bicyclists, it’s the Law of Downhills, for what goes up surely comes down; reason dictates that gravity rewards the sweat and toil of climbing with screaming descents that make the eyes water (tears of joy!). This law informed my mindset on the trek, and, looking back, I reluctantly recognize that my misery in having to work to get downhill was a mental trap of my own creation. Essentially, I was miserable because I didn’t get what I expected.

On the bike trek, I accepted that many of my expectations about the terrain were the result of simply not being meticulous in my planning. But this was a choice I made – I didn’t feel that spending hours poring over digital representations of each crest and valley on the following day’s route -- so I knew with precision what to expect -- was worth my time. First of all, I’m not that much of a techie-weenie and mostly because I was too damn tired after a long day’s ride.

Many religions and spiritual traditions address the relationship between expectations and suffering. Notably, Buddhism teaches that expectations lead to suffering because they create attachment to outcomes that are often impermanent. But this concept can be found in the Abrahamic religions as well. The Book of Job teaches that Job’s suffering is partly about learning to release expectations of how a devout life should be rewarded. In Christianity, mystics like Meister Eckhart wrote extensively about detachment – letting go of desires for specific outcomes as a path to spiritual freedom. The Quran speaks of how distress is the result of resisting what Allah has ordained. And while eastern religions focus more on the psychological mechanics of expectation and suffering and Abrahamic faiths tend to frame suffering in terms of proper relationship with the Almighty, I think what both traditions are describing are the pitfalls of resisting what the Universe presents us.

We prefer order and reasonably expect that things won’t go south on us, but ultimately, the Universe owes us nothing. The American writer Stephen Crane captured this sentiment succinctly in his poem A Man Said to the Universe:

A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.

Despite our desires for easy living, most people I know accept begrudgingly that the Universe is a random place.  On the trek, I acknowledged that no amount of planning and preparedness could ever guard against some distracted driver slamming into me.

But that didn’t happen. Was my safe passage across the country just a matter of luck? I don’t think so, because the Universe is not absolutely random (really, how could the Universe just be one thing?). I’m not being hubristic because I recognize the limits of our ability to control events. I mean, we are all just one asteroid impact from having a pretty horrible day.

At the same time, as I concede that I don’t have absolute control over my circumstances, I find I can mitigate the Universe’s randomness by carefully practicing “mindful intentionality,” which is another way of saying that I devote conscious energy towards a desired outcome and try not to become attached to it. There is a paradox here, of course: intention is often loaded with expectations, which typically creates resistance to the outcomes that arise. The hard work to resolve the paradox is known in Mindfulness circles as “effortless effort;” paying attention to what one is doing without trying to manipulate or change your experience.

Still, shit happens. What then is the best attitude to adopt to prepare for life’s expected disappointments? The great comic-philosopher Mel Brooks offered an answer in the theme song to his 1970 movie The Twelve Chairs: “Hope for the best; expect the worst.”

(“Life’s a stage; we’re unrehearsed.”)

Much too fatalistic, methinks. In its place, I prefer, “Intend for the best; accept the worst.”

Since I invest a great deal of time and energy in stretching and exercising my muscles for maintaining physical strength and flexibility it makes sense that I should also stretch the inner muscles of introspection, humility, and honesty to become nimbler at accepting whatever comes. The bike trek – with its in-your-face immediacy – provided me with countless opportunities for this kind of stretching so that I wouldn’t tumble face-first into the trap of unmet expectations.

But it wasn’t easy.

Moving Shadows and Light
Here’s the video shot using my iPhone midway through that frustrating descent to the Columbia River.