Hope cannot be disappointed. Expectation can.

Two things we use one word for, and the cost of the confusion.

· 5 min read

Two sentences that look almost identical. I hope she calls. I expect her to call.

Now suppose she does not call. In the second case something has been broken. A claim was made about how the world would go, the world went otherwise, and there is now a gap between the two that has to be accounted for. In the first case, nothing has broken. You hoped, and it did not happen, and the hoping was not wrong. It was not the kind of thing that can be wrong.

Most of the unnecessary suffering around wanting things comes from having quietly moved from the first sentence to the second without noticing.

Expectation is a prediction with your weight on it

An expectation is a claim about the future, and like all claims it can be checked. It is also, and this is the part that does the damage, load-bearing. You build on it. You make the second decision assuming the first thing will happen. You tell someone. You start arranging around it.

So when it fails, the failure is not confined to the thing itself. Everything resting on it comes down at the same time. This is why a fairly small disappointment can produce a wildly disproportionate reaction, and why the person having the reaction usually knows it is disproportionate and cannot do much about it. They are not responding to the missing phone call. They are responding to the collapse of a structure that the phone call was holding up.

There is a further sting. A violated expectation implies you got something wrong. You read the situation, you called it, you were mistaken. On top of the loss there is a small humiliation, usually private, sometimes the larger part of the whole experience. People will admit to being sad about the outcome long before they admit to feeling foolish about having been sure.

Hope makes no claim, which is why it is safe

Hope is a stance, not a prediction. To hope for something is to say that you are turned towards it and that you would welcome it. It does not assert that it will occur. It does not assert a probability. It does not even assert that it is likely enough to be worth hoping for, which is why people hope for things they know to be near impossible without any contradiction.

Because it makes no claim, there is nothing for the future to violate. The outcome arrives and the hope was still what it was. This is not a trick or a consolation prize. It is a structural difference between the two things.

An expectation can be proved wrong. A hope can only be unfulfilled, which is not the same injury.

Notice also that nothing is built on it. You can hope she calls and still plan the evening as though she will not. That is not pessimism and it is not hedging. It is the ordinary condition of hoping for something, and it is available to you only as long as you have not converted it into an expectation.

How the conversion happens

Nobody decides to do this. It happens by drift, and there are a few reliable routes.

The first is duration. Hope held for long enough starts to feel like knowledge, simply from familiarity. You have carried the thought for eight months and it has worn a groove, and something you have thought that many times stops feeling provisional.

The second is effort. If you have worked hard towards something, the work starts to feel like a deposit, and deposits imply a return. This one is almost impossible to resist and it is worth naming plainly: effort does not generate entitlement to outcomes, and every person who has worked extremely hard on something that did not come off already knows this and hates it.

The third is other people. Encouragement is meant kindly and it converts hope into expectation with remarkable efficiency. Enough people telling you it will definitely happen and you will find you have started to agree, and you will have made a claim about the future without ever choosing to.

The fourth is the worst. Partial confirmation. Something goes slightly right, a signal that looks like evidence, and hope quietly reclassifies itself as a reasonable inference. This is the route that produces the most pain, because the evidence was real and the reasoning was not unreasonable. It simply was not enough, and there is no moment at which you could have identified the point where it tipped.

What this is not

I want to head off two misreadings, because both are common and both are worse than the confusion I am arguing against.

This is not an argument for expecting nothing. A person who has trained themselves to expect nothing has not become wise, they have become unable to make plans, and they have usually paid for it with a flatness that they mistake for equanimity. Expectations are necessary. You cannot run a life without predictions about the future. The argument is for knowing which one you are holding, not for holding fewer.

Nor is it an argument that hope is painless. Unfulfilled hope hurts, sometimes for years, and I am not going to dress that up. What I am saying is narrower: the hurt of a hope that did not arrive is grief, and the hurt of an expectation that failed is grief plus the collapse of everything built on it plus the private sense of having been wrong. The second is a compound injury. Some of its parts are optional.


A test you can actually apply

If you want to know which one you are holding, the useful question is not how confident you feel. Confidence is a poor witness. The question is: if I found out tomorrow that this will definitely not happen, what else falls over?

If the honest answer is nothing much, just this, it is a hope. If the answer involves plans you have made, things you have told people, or arrangements that would have to be unpicked, then it became an expectation somewhere along the way, and you are more exposed than you thought.

That is not a reason to abandon it. It is a reason to know it.

Most people flattened by a disappointment were not flattened by the loss. They were flattened by finding out how much weight they had put on something they believed they were only hoping for.

This is part of why a wish, written plainly and left alone, is a more forgiving form than it looks. It states what you want without claiming it will arrive. There is a piece on what a wish is doing when it does not come true, and another on the stranger case, where it does.

And if the distinction here is useful but you are left wondering what hope actually consists of once you have separated it from prediction, that is the subject of its own article.

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