Outside Expectations

I know the feeling. The guilt doesn’t show up as shame. It shows up as hesitation.

It’s the pause before you complain. The instinct to throw in “I know I’m lucky, but…” before you say what’s really on your mind. That quiet voice reminds you, sometimes harshly–that you have no right to be dissatisfied.

On paper, everything works.

My job pays well. It’s stable. I’m competent in my field, somewhat respected. I can afford a comfortable lifestyle my younger self could only dream about. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, breathing room in my bank account, and the occasional freedom to say no.

Nothing is on fire.

And that’s what makes the guilt stick.

Because how do you explain feeling dissatisfied when there’s no obvious villain? No toxic boss. No layoff. No impending crisis. Just a persistent sense that something inside you isn’t quite right. You don’t feel alive.

So you convince yourself to quiet that dissatisfaction.

Be grateful. This is what stability looks like. People would kill for your job. Don’t be dramatic. And how could you really complain when millions of people have it worse than you anyway? Their struggle is real and visible elsewhere, while you live in relative comfort and what struggle you experience is abstract and internal. No aid from UN or any Red Cross supply drop is going to help your situation. On that measure you decide your suffering doesn’t qualify.

You feel guilty for complaining about your struggles. So you swallow it.

But the feelings don’t go away, they just keep growing in the back of your mind.

Because now it’s not just that you aren’t satisfied, there’s a layer of self-judgement. A sense that wanting more is somehow evidence of entitlement. And in your mind, that’s a bad thing.

You feel the restlessness is a moral failure. That fulfillment is a luxury you haven’t earned the right to pursue. The model was work hard to earn a living. If you’re reluctantly nodding your head in silence, know you’re not alone. I struggle with the same feelings.

I didn’t grow up privileged.

My parents bought store-brand, we used space heaters in the winter and kept the A/C at 80 in the summer, never left the country on vacation, my wardrobe was all hand-me-downs, hardly ever went out to eat, and did whatever we needed to stretch the budget for our single-income immigrant family. Things changed a lot when I got my first real job after college. My new engineering salary was more than my dad ever made as blue collar factory worker.

Life was going to be different for me.

There’s a seemingly innocuous moment that will always sit with me as when I realized financially my life had really changed. Just after a year from starting my full time job, I was in the grocery store and put a box of Honey Bunches of Oats Cereal, one of my favorite cereals, into my cart. Maybe I was in a rush or maybe I had my mind on something else, but I left the aisle and realized something.

I didn’t check the price.

I started back, my heartrate rising as I realized my mistake. But, then I thought to myself, “I don’t care what this box of cereal costs. I’m going to get it anyway.” Then I stopped, and went on my way, but old habits do die hard.

Old habits asked me if it was on sale, was there a coupon, and certainly you can’t just walk off not knowing what the damage is! But these things didn’t matter anymore. No, I am not saying you should go on a blind shopping spree, but what became clear to me in this moment is that the old playbook, the old rules for survival, no longer made sense.

Maybe your epiphanies aren’t happening in the cereal aisle, but I’m sure you’ve also had some moments of clarity where you realized the wisdom passed on from those around you doesn’t really apply in your situation.

And if no one’s told you yet, that’s OK.

Hard work was starting to pay off in very noticeable ways. My financial situation had changed from one of scarcity and necessity to one that afforded options and choice. Though the next lesson took a lot longer for me to figure out.

We know the old formula, hard work pays off, so keep your head down and you can lead a stable, quiet life. No one’s supposed to like working, but it is the price to pay to have a life, right? Though, what if that wasn’t necessarily true? What would have to change about your situation so that it could? For me, it took years to get comfortable with the idea that chasing more money isn’t the number one reason to keep working.

Truth is, the life I built did require a lot of effort, and I’m sure yours did too. You worked for it, delayed your gratification. Stayed in to study, finish your project, or prepare your reports instead of going out to the bars and clubs to party. You lived within your means, optimized, sacrificed, and planned until you built something for yourself. People said it would lead to contentment, a happy life. Slowly, you started to fill those shoes, but instead of finding contentment, you found comfort, which isn’t a bad thing, but maybe not what you were after.

It feels a little like a our friend the well-fed lion. Safe. Stimulated. Cared for.

And yet, unmistakably, not free.

The guilt comes from knowing that the cage is comfortable and wondering whether wanting to leave to chase the wild air makes you selfish, naive, or broken. Friends, you are not guilty for wanting more.

Maybe guilt is just what happens when your inner life grows faster than your external circumstances