My life motto is basically to lower your standards and

"My life motto is basically to lower your standards and expectations so you're never disappointed and never put any trust in anything, and I try to prepare for the day that I wake up, and everyone I know is like, 'LOL JK best long-running practical joke ever', so I've never really let myself freak out or get too excited about anything." These words, spoken by Tavi Gevinson, offer a deep reflection on the nature of expectations and trust. Gevinson's motto seems to stem from the belief that, by lowering one's expectations, one can avoid the sting of disappointment and heartbreak. She prepares for life with a kind of detachment, an emotional armor against the uncertainty and volatility of the world. This attitude, while seeming pragmatic, speaks to a deeper fear—a fear of being vulnerable, of trusting too fully, and of getting too excited about a future that may never come to fruition.

In the ancient world, the Stoic philosophers, such as Epictetus and Seneca, held similar views about the fragility of expectation. The Stoics believed that emotions, particularly those rooted in unfulfilled desires or unexamined expectations, were a source of human suffering. They taught that, to live a life of peace, one must detach from the world’s outcomes and accept life as it is, rather than as one might hope it to be. Seneca wrote, "We suffer more often in imagination than in reality," warning that the anticipation of loss or disappointment can cause us more grief than the loss itself. Gevinson’s motto echoes this ancient wisdom—by lowering our expectations, we might avoid the painful sting of disappointment, but we also risk closing ourselves off from the full spectrum of life’s emotional experiences.

Consider the life of Alexander the Great, a man whose ambitious dreams and relentless drive led him to conquer much of the known world. Alexander was a man of great expectations, pushing himself and his armies beyond what many thought was possible. But, as history tells us, he died young, his empire fragmented shortly after his death. Had Alexander adopted the philosophy of lowering his expectations, he might have led a life free of the anxieties that came with his quest for conquest. Yet, Alexander’s story reveals a paradox: his unshakable confidence and high expectations led him to greatness, but they also led to his premature downfall. Gevinson’s motto, in this light, seems like a response to the world’s capacity for disappointment, urging caution and emotional preparation, yet it also invites us to question whether such caution might limit the heights we can reach.

The paradox at the heart of Gevinson’s view is that by lowering expectations and trusting less, we shield ourselves from the pain of loss, but we also risk missing out on life’s joys. Frida Kahlo, the Mexican artist, lived a life marked by great suffering—she endured physical pain, personal loss, and political upheaval. Yet, in her art, she did not shy away from her emotions, from the fullness of life’s experiences, no matter how painful. Kahlo’s life was a testament to embracing both the beauty and the suffering of life, without retreating into emotional armor. Her paintings, raw and unflinching, express a trust in the world’s complexity, a trust in her own experience, and a belief that to live fully is to embrace both joy and sorrow. In this sense, Kahlo’s approach to life stands in stark contrast to Gevinson’s. By lowering expectations and avoiding trust, one might shield oneself from suffering, but at what cost?

In our own lives, we often face the choice between embracing the fullness of life’s experiences—with all their risks and uncertainties—or retreating into a world of emotional detachment. Gevinson’s motto calls attention to the ways in which we seek to protect ourselves from disappointment, often by cutting ourselves off from the very things that might bring us true joy and meaning. When we lower our expectations too much, we may find that we miss out on the opportunities for growth, connection, and achievement that come from trusting in something greater than ourselves, whether that be people, dreams, or ideals.

The lesson here is both profound and sobering: we must be willing to take risks—to trust, to hope, and to expect—knowing that we may face disappointment. But this is the price of living fully. Just as Socrates believed that the examined life was worth the pain of introspection, so too must we believe that living life fully—with its inherent uncertainties—is worth the risk of occasional heartbreak and disappointment. Trust, expectation, and vulnerability are the pathways to deeper connection and greater achievement, even though they may bring pain along the way.

In practical terms, we must embrace our vulnerability—we must be open to life’s joys and sorrows—without retreating into emotional detachment. Instead of lowering our expectations too far, we should cultivate resilience, learning to navigate life’s ups and downs with grace and determination. The choice is not between disappointment and detachment, but between embracing the fullness of our experience and shutting ourselves off from the very richness that life has to offer. In doing so, we prepare ourselves not just to survive, but to thrive, no matter what challenges we may face. Let us walk forward, trusting in our own ability to feel, to hope, and to rise above the inevitable struggles that life presents.