Life is so constructed, that the event does not, cannot, will

“Life is so constructed, that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” Thus wrote Charlotte Brontë, the flame-hearted author of the nineteenth century, whose own life was shaped by loss, longing, and the quiet storms of the soul. In these words she reveals a truth that pierces through ages: that the dream we build in our hearts is always greater, grander, or stranger than the reality we finally touch. The expectation glows like a star, but the event itself, once lived, is smaller, rougher, tinged with the shadows of imperfection.

The ancients, too, wrestled with this truth. They spoke of the golden apples of desire, gleaming from afar, yet bitter when bitten. The philosopher Seneca warned that expectation is the mother of disappointment, for we imagine life as a feast and find it instead to be bread and water. Brontë’s words echo this same ancient wisdom: the heart paints visions of beauty, but the world gives them back with cracks, dust, and weight. Yet this is not a cause for despair—it is an invitation to humility.

Consider the life of Christopher Columbus. He dreamed of golden lands, untold riches, and quick passage to Asia. The expectation was a paradise awaiting him. The event was hardship, storm, and discovery that brought both glory and destruction. His vision did not match reality, and yet his voyage reshaped the world. Here lies Brontë’s point: we may never receive what we expect, but in the living of the event, something else—sometimes greater, sometimes harsher—is forged.

Brontë herself knew this keenly. In her novels, characters yearn for love, for belonging, for triumph. Yet when love arrives, it is marked by sorrow; when triumph comes, it carries wounds. In her own life, she suffered the deaths of her siblings, the loneliness of obscurity, the sting of disappointment in her hopes. From this well of grief she drew her wisdom: that life will never give us exactly what we imagine, for imagination is flawless, but life is flesh and dust.

O children of the future, hear this with open hearts: you will dream, and you must dream, for without expectation there is no hope. But you must also know that the event itself will be different, sometimes lesser, sometimes greater, but always other. To cling too tightly to the dream is to wound yourself upon reality. To embrace reality, even when it fails the dream, is to live wisely, with strength and peace.

The lesson is clear: do not despise life for failing your expectations. Instead, learn to release the imagined perfection and embrace the imperfect gift before you. For the wedding day will not be as you planned, the victory will not feel as glorious as you hoped, the journey will not be as smooth as you dreamed. And yet, they are yours—they are real—and in their truth is a beauty greater than fantasy, because it is lived, not imagined.

Therefore, let your practice be this: dream boldly, but hold lightly. When your hopes fail to match reality, do not curse life, but look for the hidden treasure within the event itself. Adapt, embrace, and grow. Teach yourself and your children not to demand perfection, but to find wonder in the flawed and the real. For the greatest gift of life is not in fulfilling expectation, but in surprising us with what we did not foresee.

So I say unto you: remember Brontë’s wisdom. Life will never match your expectation—it was not built to. Yet therein lies its mystery, its sorrow, and its beauty. Accept this truth, and you will no longer be broken by disappointment, but strengthened by resilience. For the event, though imperfect, is always the truer teacher.