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What I Expected from Life

TL;DR: Nobody handed my generation the future we were promised. The Berlin Wall fell, a wristwatch outcomputed a room-sized mainframe, and the World Trade Center came down, none of it predicted. Meanwhile the lunar colony I confidently expected never arrived. This is a short inventory of what surprised me and what never showed up.

We sure do live in a fantastic era. The world has changed in ways I would never have predicted, and I have changed as well.

I was a child in the sixties and a teenager in the seventies, which was a very particular moment to be forming expectations about the future. We had just put men on the moon. Everything in the culture told us that was the beginning of something instead of the end of it. Magazines ran illustrations of orbital hotels. Television gave us a starship with a crew that argued about ethics. The assumption underneath all of it was that progress moved in one direction and that the direction was outward.

What I have learned since is that the future arrives. It just arrives somewhere else, doing something you were not watching for, while the thing you expected sits unbuilt with nobody able to say exactly why.

So this is an inventory. What blindsided me, what never showed up, and where my own life went instead.

The things I never predicted

Some of the events I would never have predicted when I was a child:

The watch one still stops me when I think about it properly. In college I worked on a machine that filled a room, needed its own cooling, and had a team of people whose entire job was keeping it running. What is on my wrist right now would have been science fiction to everybody in that building, and I bought it without much thought and I complain when the battery gets low.

The Berlin Wall is the one I misjudged worst. I grew up with the Cold War as a permanent feature of reality, the way weather is permanent. Nobody I knew treated it as a situation that could end. Then it ended, on television, in a few weeks, and the thing everybody had organized their fears around simply stopped existing.

What that taught me is that the largest changes do not announce themselves in advance. They look impossible right up until they look inevitable, and there is almost no period in between where they look likely.

The future that never arrived

On the other hand, I had some expectations that did not happen:

The moon one is the one I feel. We went, six times, and then we stopped, and a person born the year of the last landing is now in their fifties. I could not have believed that as a boy. If you had told me we would go to the moon and then not go back for the rest of my life, I would have assumed something terrible had happened. Nothing terrible happened. We just stopped, for reasons that made sense to somebody with a budget.

The paperless office is the one I find funny, and I have earned the right to find it funny. I spent twenty years running computer operations for a major national retailer, and one of the projects I am proudest of removed several pallets of paper a day from each of our distribution centers. Pallets. Every day. That was decades into the era when paper was supposed to have disappeared, and we were still shifting it by forklift.

The four-day week is the one that annoys me. Every piece of automation I installed across thirty-three years was justified partly on the time it would save. All of it saved the time. None of the time came back to anybody. It got absorbed into more work, which is a lesson about organizations and not about technology.

Twists, goals, and dreams

Then there is my own life, which took directions I would not have guessed at any point before they happened. Every one of these came out of a conversation, an accident, or somebody asking me a question I had not considered.

What I did not expect:

The bellydance photography is the one people ask about. I did that for nearly a decade and shot around twelve hundred performances, and nothing in my earlier life pointed at it. I was a computer operations man who bought a camera. Then somebody asked me to photograph a show, and then the shows kept happening, and at some point I looked up and it was a substantial part of who I was.

Being a widower is the one I will not dress up. There is no version of that I expected and no version I prepared for, and it reorganized everything that came after it.

And, of course, I had some goals that did not happen:

The geology one is not entirely a loss. I never worked in the field, and I have been reading about it for five decades and I still stop the car for a good roadcut. There is a version of not achieving a goal where the interest survives the career, and that is where I ended up with rocks.

The published author one is the strangest entry on this list, because it did happen and it happened so far outside the shape I imagined that I did not recognize it as the same goal. I pictured novels. What arrived was a hundred and thirteen books under my own name and fifty-four more written for other people, almost none of them fiction, in a career I had not heard of when I set the goal.

The useful thing about having your expectations overturned this thoroughly is that it makes the next set easier to hold loosely. I still set goals. I have simply stopped assuming I know which of them will happen or what they will look like when they do.

The current list:

And a few places I would like to travel:

And a few things I would like to do:

There are still some people I would like to meet, and by that I mean sit down with and have a real conversation:

If I suddenly found myself with five million dollars after taxes:

And if I made some real money, say a hundred million dollars, I would probably buy a castle.

What the inventory is for

I did not write any of this down to complain about the moon.

What strikes me, reading the four lists together, is how badly I did at the whole exercise. Nearly everything on the first list arrived without warning. Nearly everything on the second seemed certain and never happened. The twists in my own life were not on either list, because they were not the kind of thing a person predicts. They were the kind of thing a person says yes to.

That is not a complaint. It is close to the opposite. The unpredicted things have been better than the predicted ones, and by a wide margin. I would trade the lunar colony for the twelve hundred performances I photographed, and I did not even know that trade was on offer.

The other thing I notice is how many entries on the goals list are things I could start this month. Learn an instrument. Climb the mountain. Finish the novels. None of those are waiting on the world to cooperate. They are waiting on me, which is a more uncomfortable finding than any amount of disappointment about flying cars.

So I am going to keep making lists like this. Not because I expect to get better at predicting, since sixty years of evidence says I will not, but because writing down what you expected and then reading it back later is one of the few honest measurements a person gets.

Frequently Asked Questions

What did you expect from life as a child?
A lunar colony, mostly. I grew up certain the United States would have a permanent base on the moon, and instead I got a wristwatch with more computing power than a room-sized mainframe. The future arrived, just not the one advertised.
What surprised you the most?
The Berlin Wall falling and the Soviet Union collapsing. Nothing in my childhood suggested either was possible, and then both happened, along with events like September 11 that nobody sane would have predicted.
Do you still set new goals?
Constantly. The essay lists them: places to travel, things to learn, people to meet. Expectations get overturned, and goals are what you build from the wreckage.

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