The vagaries of our lives are like the waves. We wish that they discuss (among themselves) and come to us with a synchronized display. Entertain us. And warn us when they don’t intent to. Wishful thinking.

God! We’re fools.

The spectrum of our expectations: Downright pessimism to Pseudo Optimism. The happy notes don’t make us sing in joy while the gloomy disaster doesn’t throw us off. The balanced status quo travels through the spectrum with its own confusion. This or That.

Perceived changes for good doesn’t bring in the joy. It just lasts for that instant. Gratified? Done. Gone. There’s no after taste.

‘Now, What’s next?’ echoes habitually.

There’s a foot outta door before putting one inside. The long-term plan, which’ll be followed by another one of the same league.

Sometimes you start admiring the unsynchronized beauty of the waves. There’s no plan there. They just tower over you and then fall flat. Only to return. They seem to like the ritual. We just hate the uniformity until we find a new one to replace it. Changing batteries. Waiting (sometimes) until they run out, or just because we wanted to. Like, why not? Maybe this upgrade will excite us, we think.

The knowledge of mortality is a question mark that looms large and our attempt to squeeze in the experiences is practical. Don’t you feel, not knowing this would have helped us better?

Are we subjecting ourselves to become too aspirational?

An image of achievement guided by our society, fed by our past laurels and aimed at a shifting finish line?

Are we manufacturing our own disappointments ? Do this, do this and do that too. You can’t? That’s a shame!

Not that aspirations are an enemy. Neither is having plans. But perhaps subjecting ourselves to an interrogation of not meeting them is.