Intentions and Expectations

A Journal Entry by  OSEI, Andrew      

Friday, September 6, 2024

Let’s face it—the simple truth is that we all set intentions with desired outcomes in mind. Think about it: when you approach a vending machine with your credit card (in true 2024 fashion), your ultimate goal is to quench your thirst. The drink you choose to achieve that goal is entirely up to you. Here’s the kicker: with each beverage option, you might have slightly different expectations, which vary from person to person. Tap! Then “bam”—a Coca-Cola, which is a favourite of mine, though I no longer drink it for health reasons. Alright, Coke it is. I know my intentions—at least, the ones I’m conscious of. I want to spike my blood sugar, which gives me a burst of energy, and combined with the caffeine, the boost is even more effective. Ninety-nine percent of the time, choosing Coke gives me the desired outcome. 

Your question is: What does the vending machine analogy have to do with anything meaningful? Well, lately, I’ve realized that whenever I set an intention and don’t quite get the outcome I expected, it sets me off on a downward spiral of negative emotion. I want to use this journal to process my intentions and expectations, especially regarding my quest to build a great relationship with my father. In particular, I want to make him proud of me to the point where he openly verbalizes it.

I grew up without a father figure for the first nine years of my life. I’d look at his graduation photo on the wall and think, “What a smart man he must be.” I’d flip through his old photo albums and wonder, “How did he run his own business and do it successfully?” Before I met my father at nine, I had many preconceived notions about him. I wanted to pick his brain—ask him about life, school, entrepreneurship, and most importantly, God. The first place my father took me was the Accra Public Library, which, in hindsight, was a telltale sign that intellectual matters and academics were important to him. 

Was I a good student? Yes and no. Yes, because I excel when I care, set clear intentions, and know the desired outcome. No, because when the subject matter doesn’t interest me, my hyperactive brain labels it as “non-essential” and tunes out—it’s just not intellectually stimulating enough.

Just as I had preconceived notions about my father before meeting him, I’m sure he had them about me. I mean, it’s only fair—I was his first son, born after a tragic loss he experienced a few years before I came into the picture. I’m sure he had great intentions and high expectations for my life. Growing up with my father was quite the ride. I looked at him, intending to have a best friend, forgetting that he was also a parent with responsibilities. From nine to thirteen, I idolized him, but I still saw him as a distant figure. 

My father was a youth worker, and when he worked with “other people’s kids,” he was far more loving and gracious—expressing his gratitude for them in full view. However, I noticed I didn’t receive the same grace at home. So, my intention of having a father didn’t quite turn out like I had envisioned.

Let’s consider things from my father’s perspective. His entire message to the youth he worked with was about the importance of formal education. How could he advocate for that if his son wasn’t a college or university graduate? Being a Christian, I’m sure he wanted to lead by example. 

That brings me to the real reason I’m writing this journal. I recently enrolled in school for the seventh time to make my father a little less disappointed in me before he goes to his grave. I expected him to be more communicative and to let me know he was happy with my decision. I guess I wanted fanfare, but instead, I got stoicism. It’s like expecting a Coke from the vending machine only to get lemonade. I was disappointed and confused. What have I gotten myself into? Do I do what I always do—quit? Or do I take it as a challenge to get to a place where, although my original expectation was for my father to say something like, “This is my son Andrew, with whom I am well pleased,” I now realize that might never happen. Maybe, just maybe, he’s not capable of expressing love that way.

My father’s love language is acts of service; mine is words of affirmation. He truly enjoys serving others. I, on the other hand, serve others if it serves me in return. I don’t have much of a volunteer spirit, and even when I’m being altruistic, at least I get a warm feeling inside for helping—and that’s not nothing. When I serve my clients in my business, I’ll admit—it’s their affirming feedback and their satisfaction with my work that brings me true joy. Everybody’s different, and that’s no different for my father and me.

So, here I am at a crossroads. Do I abandon this mission, or should I set my sights on a different intention? This has led me to a deeper understanding: intentions can be fluid and flexible. I’ve come to realize that I can’t live my life to please anyone—not even myself—because the truth is, the goalposts will always keep shifting. I am now resolved to live my life for Christ and Christ alone, recognizing that He is the only figure truly worth striving to emulate. While I love my father, the dream of earning a university degree wasn’t born from my own desires. It feels as though I’ve been choosing lemonade because it makes my father happy when, in reality, I’d much rather have a Coke. At this point, I’ve decided to complete the academic year and finish the four courses I signed up for, but with little to no expectations—simply learning for learning’s sake, to broaden my understanding of matters of the divine. If I enjoy the process, I’ll sign up for the next set of courses. If not, I’ll reassess when I reach that point. My true resolve is to be a lifelong learner through formal education or informal experiences.