Hello friends! We’ve made it nearly 2/3 of the way through January! 🎉, dampening it some but not extinguishing it. I saw some memes alluding to the fact that it’s ben a rough year already, there certainly has been a lot of tumult, and they asked if we might exchange the year since it wasn’t all that used yet.There have been some challenges in our household as well, and I have to admit that looking forward over the rest of 2025, I feel that reality has settled a bit over my optimism of a couple weeks ago. This life is such a dance with all the emotions and stresses and delights. Everything constantly in flux. This week we continue our January exploration of the topic of Intention, with David sharing his thoughts and experiences with Intention and one of its frequent co-travelers, Expectation. Thanks for spending a bit of your time with us this week.

-Mindy

I Never Intended

Intention is a tricky thing and a bit of a bastard. In my life, it’s been equal parts soulful and slippery—equal parts guiding light and cruel illusion. I never intended for my intentions to twist into expectations, yet somehow, they often do, like shadows pretending to be solid ground. And I’ll bet you never did either.

When Intention Becomes Expectation

The problem with intention is that it rarely stands alone. More often than not, it grabs a partner—expectation—and together, they waltz straight into disappointment. At its purest, intention is a quiet whisper, a gentle nudge toward the present moment. But expectations are never a whisper or gentle. They shout about how things should turn out or sulk when they don’t.

It feels like it should be simple to steer clear of expectations, especially given how unpleasant they make me feel. But they sneak in anyway, persistent and cunning. They lead me to disappointment, disengagement, and that gnawing sense of "not enough." Even worse, when things do go well, expectation somehow still finds fault. It doesn’t matter how beautiful the reality is—it nitpicks the details, making sure I miss the moment entirely.

That’s the betrayal of expectation—it promises fulfillment but only trades in dissatisfaction. It turns the openness of intention into a scoreboard where every moment is judged and inevitably found wanting. My ego loves this game. It convinces me that expectation is necessary, that it’s how I make things happen. But in truth, it’s just another trick, keeping me clinging to outcomes I can’t control.

Mindfulness as a Guide

Mindfulness has been my compass when I’m lost in this mess. The whole point of setting intentions in meditation isn’t to achieve anything specific. It’s not about perfecting my breath or finding enlightenment. It’s about showing up, right here and now, without attaching strings to the experience. An intention like I will remain open and curious isn’t a demand for how things should be—it’s an invitation to let things unfold as they are.

But expectation doesn’t like invitations. It likes guarantees. And that’s where it all starts to go sideways. The moment an intention becomes tethered to expectation, it loses its freedom. What was once a guiding light becomes a leash, pulling me toward an imagined future or dragging me down when reality doesn’t match the picture I painted.

Even philosophy offers a lifeline here. The Doctrine of Double Effect reminds me that intentions can be valid—even noble—without guaranteeing perfect results. I can act with pure intention, knowing full well that unintended consequences might arise. But my obsession with control, with getting it "right," leaves little room for that kind of humility. I get so busy trying to perfect the outcome that I forget the beauty of simply trying.

Surfing Life

So here’s the rub: intention asks me to aim; expectation demands I hit the bullseye. Intention invites presence; expectation obsesses over outcomes. And when expectation hijacks the ride, the whole experience turns sour. The challenge isn’t just recognizing when expectation has snuck in—it’s learning to let it go, loosening my grip on what should happen, and returning to the straightforward, soulful whisper of intention itself.

I keep coming back to the imagery in Be Here Now, where Ram Dass talks about surfing existence. Life is tumultuous, an unpredictable sea of highs and lows, and no matter how carefully I’ve set my intentions or tried to control outcomes, I will be tossed and tumbled. That’s not failure—it’s just reality. The question isn’t whether the waves will come—they will. The real question is whether I can learn to ride them, stay upright when the swell rises beneath me, and skip lightly across the churning waters without being swallowed whole.

Happiness, in this sense, isn’t about eliminating the waves of frustration, disappointment, or longing that arise from my expectant self—the part of me so convinced it knows how things should be yet so incapable of genuinely showing up for how things are. No, happiness is something lighter and freer. It’s the art of skimming across the roiling ocean without getting dragged under. It’s not a denial of the sea of myself or my ego but an acknowledgment of it—and a willingness to treat it lightly by surfing above it anyway.

Mindfulness Practices

Mindfulness anchors me in the moment, helping me stay present no matter how rough the waters get. Practices like meditation, breathwork, and body scanning teach me to witness my emotions and thoughts without being pulled under by them. They give me the space to ride the waves rather than letting them crash over me. It’s not that mindfulness stops the waves from coming—it’s a skill, a way of staying upright in the middle of the tumult.

Play as a Lifeline

Approaching life with curiosity and humor has become my lifeline. I used to spend so much energy on doing things the "right" way or the "best" way. I’d get so caught up in being perfect that I rarely noticed how little I actually enjoyed my experiences when my life felt so damn serious. For me, the anchor was routine. For others, it might be “what will they think?” Either way, it’s all about control—expecting the world to run as we think it ought to. And because it won’t, we get stuck, waiting for the world to change before we can.

Nothing has helped me become more present than learning to play again. Playfulness lightens the load of expectation, transforming challenges into opportunities for exploration rather than battles to win. When I let myself get curious instead of controlling, I stop trying to force the world into a mold and start finding joy in its unpredictability. Playing is how I stop flailing and start riding the waves again.

Letting Go as a Muscle

Letting go isn’t something that happens all at once. It’s a practice, a skill that strengthens over time like a muscle. The grip of attachment—to outcomes, control, and how things should be—runs deep. It’s a reflex, a defense mechanism, and a way to shield myself from uncertainty. But letting go isn’t about giving up; it’s about loosening that grip, creating space for something new to emerge.

For me, letting go starts with acknowledging the tension. I notice it most in my body—clenched fists, tight shoulders, high and shallow breath in my chest, almost held as I worry through the worst “what if” I can conjure. That’s where body-based practices like yoga or somatic exercises come in. Moving through the tension reminds me that my body often holds onto expectations long after my mind has forgotten what they were. Releasing that physical tightness feels like exhaling for the first time in hours, sometimes days.

Journaling has been another tool for me, a space to pour out the mental clutter and see the grip of my expectations more clearly. It’s not always neat or profound—sometimes, it’s just a rant, a list of grievances, or a scattered web of thoughts. But when putting it all on the page, I often stumble upon the thing I’m really holding onto, the thing I need to let go of. Writing has a way of untangling what feels impossible to navigate internally.

Then there’s self-inquiry, the quiet but powerful act of asking, Why am I holding onto this so tightly? Sometimes, the answers are obvious—I want things to go my way because I fear failure or rejection. Other times, the answers surprise me, revealing fears or beliefs I didn’t know I had. By sitting with those questions, I start to unravel the attachment, replacing it with curiosity instead of control.

Letting go isn’t easy, and it’s rarely permanent. I’ve had to let go of the same thing more times than I can count—an outcome I was sure I needed, a plan that didn’t pan out, or a version of myself I thought I had to be. But I notice the grip loosening a little more each time I practice. The muscle gets stronger. The waves come, and I don’t hold my breath as tightly. I let myself be tossed and tumbled, trusting I’ll surface again, another chance to drop in and try again.

Getting to Shore

I never intended for things to unfold this way—for my intentions to twist into expectations, for my grip to tighten around outcomes, or for my need for control to leave me so damn exhausted. But that’s the truth of it. Life doesn’t ask what I intend; it sweeps me up in its waves regardless, tossing me into places I never expected to go.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the double entendre of “I never intended” is the real invitation. It’s the acknowledgment that I didn’t plan this perfectly, that I couldn’t have predicted where I’d end up, and that trying to control it all was never the goal. But it’s also the quiet promise of intention itself—an anchor in the present, a compass that points me toward something real, something worth riding even when the outcome is uncertain.

Getting to shore isn’t about conquering the waves. It’s about learning to ride them with a little more skill each time, letting the tide carry me when I’m too tired to paddle, and staying loose and present when I wipe out. I never intended to know the ocean this intimately, to flail and be pummeled by it so many times that I’d learn how to let go, how to trust, and how to climb back on the board. But here I am, trying again, finding moments of balance amidst the chaos. Surfing, not perfectly, but intentionally. 

It turns out that’s enough to get me to shore. It also turns out I’m definitely going to go back out there and ride some more waves!

-David/Gonzo

NEAT!

Stuff we think is neat enough to share! (David⚡️ & Mindy✨)

• Charming little song from Maribou State 🎶✨

• It’s a Good Day (to fight the system) Love this one! 💪🎶✨

• It’s Easier Than You Think This short book was our neighborhood book club selection this month. I listened to it in an afternoon and really enjoyed the author’s insights and sense of humor. 📕✨

• The Guardian shared some tips on how to get happier in just 5 minutes.

SOMETHING TO TRY

I had a friend say to me years ago that the key to happiness was low expectations. She was specifically talking about life with multiple young kids, and how to handle the disappointment that came from when your plans for an outing or even just a day fell apart. And while it’s a rather pessimistic sentiment, I did find it a useful idea to look more closely into the expectations I was carrying subconsciously. So often we aren’t aware of what our expectations were until they aren’t met and we are disappointed. At its best, working with intention can help us avoid this. If you encounter disappointment this week, try using that as an invitation to revisit your expectations.

-Mindy

PARTING

WORDS

PIC

That’s all for this week! If you’re into this, share this newsletter with all your friends. Connecting with new subscribers is magical! 🧚🏻‍♀️

DISCLAIMER: This newsletter is for educational and informational purposes only and is not intended as a substitute for professional medical advice.