I created an equation years ago: Happiness equals expectations minus perception of reality.

This means that if you are expecting a bonus of $100.00 and receive only $50.00, you will be disappointed.  If you expect a bonus of $25.00, however, and receive $45.00, then you will be pleased even though the absolute amount of the bonus is $5.00 less.

So, for increased happiness, my advice to you is don’t expect more than you think you will receive.

At the Winter Olympics Red Gerard, 17 years old, was the first gold medal winner for the United States.  Did he expect to win the gold medal?  In his own words:

“I’m absolutely just mind-blown. I can’t believe everything worked out, and honestly I don’t think I’ve really had time to let it set in yet. I’m just so happy I got to land a run, and just to end up on the podium is awesome.”

He didn’t even talk about winning the gold medal.  For him, just ending up on the podium was awesome.

On to my own athletic saga:  Alan and the Pogo Stick.

Originally I thought I would buy the pogo stick and accessories as a fun way to get some exercise. Upon delivery, I adjusted that plan, but still intended to take some jumps on it while Sprite took a few photos or a video, and then I would be finished.  I didn’t expect a gold medal.  I didn’t even expect to stand on a podium.  I only expected to accomplish my goal of jumping on the pogo stick, at least once. If you have been following my blog for the past few weeks you may have expected the same thing.

It hasn’t been that easy.  First of all, it is not a kid’s pogo stick.  It has a pressurized air chamber.  When my young techie friend Kevin pumped air into the pogo stick he jumped on for a test ride and ended up smashed against the corner of his desk.  I was not encouraged.  In fact, I was scared.

In my office, with Kevin holding on for balance, I tried to step onto my pogo stick and try it out.  That was easier said than done.  I think I have pretty good balance.  My pogo stick disagrees.  It tried to tip me over.  Pogo stick 1, Alan 0.

Kevin suggested that I try it out on a grass field.  “Better to fall on grass than on concrete.”  He was right.  But I was not encouraged.  In fact, I was discouraged.

I am not eager to go to the park to fall on the ground.  But it’s now or never time.  This coming week I will either take a few jumps on it, or donate the darned thing to the Olympic Committee for Pogo Sticking.  Or to Red Gerard.  I’ll bet he would be leaping ten feet into the air within a few minutes.  But I’m sixty years older than he is, and anyway he’s going to be too busy signing autographs for the next several years.

I’m sorry about not meeting your expectations.  Or mine.  Give me just one more week.  Please.  And I’ve decided not to buy a big dog with an enormous appetite.

Stay tuned.  Just don’t expect too much.

Thanks.

Alan

Since I suffer from the terminal condition of being a man, the best I can give you is my personal answer to this question, entirely from a male perspective.  I believe, however, that most women would reach a similar conclusion.

Who will say the words “I love you” first in a relationship?  I thought about this a lot when I was a teenager, and my answer then, as now, is simple.  I am willing to say it first, and, in so doing, I am willing to risk the possibility of rejection.

This is true even though I am very sensitive to rejection. I tend to take any rejection, real or imaginary, personal or impersonal, as a direct rejection of me. I have even felt rejected because I was unable to make an online reservation at a restaurant.

But “I love you” is as personal as it gets and my emotional risk is far greater than it is with a restaurant.  I can easily dine somewhere else.  So why is it I am willing to take the leap in love despite the much higher emotional risk?

When I was single and in my thirties I had one date with Sheila.  I thought our date went poorly and was not planning to ask her out again.  A few days later I received a note that said, “Alan, I had a wonderful time, and I’d like to spend more time with you.  I’m giving a dinner party on Friday, and if you’re as interested in me as I am in you please be at my apartment at six pm.  If not, please do not reply to my note and do not show up.  I love you, Sheila”

I was surprised, but appreciated her honesty.  I didn’t show up, but as I think about this experience more than forty years later I still have a mental picture of Sheila preparing dinner, having other guests arrive, then waiting for me.  When did she realize I wasn’t coming?  Did she cry that night?  I don’t know. We each deal with rejection in our own way.

Sheila went first.  I applaud her for that.  And Sheila did exactly what I decided to do when I was in my late teens – say “I love you” first.  I have never said this a day or two after a first meeting, and I have not always received the hoped for “I love you too” in response.  But I think it would be a shame if my fear controlled me, and a promising relationship failed to blossom simply because neither of us was willing to take an emotional risk and say “I love you.”  Someone has to go first.

In the play The Rainmaker there is a scene in which the deputy sheriff, who is single and lonely, breaks my heart.  He says, “When my wife was leaving me, I knew she would stay if I just said, “Please stay.  I love you.  And I need you.  But my pride got in the way.  If I had it to do over I would ask her to stay.”

I suggest that we always be willing to go first, even if we’ve been married for fifty years.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Love,

Alan

P.S.  My pogo stick has migrated to the trunk of my car.  This week I promise to mount the monster and take a wild ride.  Video next week.