The Expectation Effect
We all carry expectations — of ourselves, of others, of how life should unfold. And in a world where we are constantly immersed in the lives of those around us, those expectations quietly grow. Your friend is in a relationship, and suddenly it feels like you should be too. You see someone thriving in a career they adore, and wonder why that hasn’t been your path. Friends plan dreamy holidays, and your own life begins to feel still, even stagnant by comparison. This is how the mind is wired — to notice, to compare, to envy. We all do it. But the trouble with comparison is that it gradually raises the bar so high that anything short of perfection begins to feel like a letdown.
When we gently soften our expectations — of ourselves, of others, of what life should look like — everything begins to gradually loosen. There is more space, more ease. We become available again to the beauty that already surrounds us. We begin to notice small moments of awe, quiet wonder, unexpected magic — not because we demanded them, but because we allowed life to meet us as it is.
David Robson’s The Expectation Effect beautifully explores this idea. He writes that what we anticipate — how we believe things will go — often becomes our reality. Our expectations shape not only our mindset but also the way we move through the world.
Our brains are always working to keep us safe. One of their main roles is to predict what might happen next, drawing from past experiences to prepare us for what’s ahead. It uses what it already knows — combined with sensory information in the present moment — to create your version of reality, a kind of internal representation of what’s true.
But what if many of your past experiences weren’t safe, calm, or kind? What if your nervous system learned to expect difficulty, rejection, or fear? It would make sense, then, that you might walk into certain situations already feeling anxious, guarded, or low — and that those feelings would, in some way, shape your experience.
That doesn’t mean you’re doomed to repeat the past. But it does mean that your sensitivity, your readiness to protect yourself, is understandable. And with that awareness, perhaps a little more compassion can arise.
And from there — the possibility to shift. To gently prime your mind for something new. To create space for the idea that this moment doesn’t have to be like the ones before. That, as Robson notes, people who view stress as something enhancing — something that can propel them — tend to notice more beauty, more potential, more good. They’re less focused on threat, more open to possibility.
This is where expectation becomes powerful — not in how we try to change ourselves, but in how we relate to our own thinking. How we expect the day to feel. How we imagine the weekend unfolding. How we assume we’ll wake up, fall in love, build a life. So much of our pain comes from clinging to a version of how things should be — rather than allowing room for how things might be.
It’s about making peace with reality. Knowing we’re cyclical beings. That there will be seasons of fullness and seasons of emptiness. Moments of joy, but also times where we feel behind, vulnerable, alone. And that’s not something to be fixed — it’s simply human. We shouldn't expect to feel anything else.
But softening our expectations doesn’t mean becoming cynical. It also means gently letting go of the fear-based storylines — that things won’t work out, that we’re unlovable, that we’ll be left behind. In Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway, this idea is echoed: we can feel fear, and still move forward. And in the same way, we can begin to shift our expectations — to leave space for hope, for magic, for the unknown. Because anything can happen. And we shouldn’t expect anything less.
Robson, D. (2022). The Expectation Effect: How Your Mindset Can Change Your World. Canongate Books.
