Do I Actually Want This—or Do I Think I’m Supposed to Want It?

Intentional Living

Aug 24

I recently spent several days around people who have very close friendships.

Not just friends they enjoy having dinner with or talking to occasionally. These were the kinds of friendships where people are deeply involved in one another's lives. They show up for important family events. They travel considerable distances to be there during difficult times. They know one another's families. They are part of the fabric of each other's lives.

And I found myself fascinated by it.

My first reaction was something along the lines of: How do people have this many close friends?

Then, almost immediately, my observation of someone else's life turned into an evaluation of my own.

Is it strange that I don't have friendships like this?

Should I want more support from my friends?

Should I be cultivating deeper friendships?

And eventually, the really uncomfortable question:

Is there something wrong with me that I don't seem to want this?

That question got my attention.

Because when I looked at the actual facts of my life, I realized I'm not lonely. I'm not sitting at home wishing I had more friends. I have people I enjoy. I have friends I can have meaningful conversations with. I enjoy meeting new people. I particularly enjoy one-on-one interactions where we can skip some of the surface-level stuff and really talk.

I'm also a very independent person.

I don't particularly want a large social network woven into the logistics of my life. And I don't want the expectations and responsibilities that can sometimes accompany deeply interdependent relationships.

That doesn't mean I don't care deeply about people.

It means I like a fair amount of spaciousness in my relationships.

So I started wondering whether there was something deeper going on. Maybe my independence was really self-protection. Maybe I didn't allow people to get too close because closeness creates vulnerability and vulnerability means I could get hurt.

It's possible. I think it's always worth being curious about ourselves rather than immediately accepting the most flattering explanation for why we are the way we are.

But then I asked myself a much simpler question.

When I imagine having the kinds of friendships I had just observed, what do I actually feel?

The answer came immediately.

Pressure. Not longing.

That distinction told me a lot.

I wasn't looking at these relationships and thinking, I wish I had that.

I was looking at them and thinking, Should I want that?

Those are entirely different experiences.

And I started thinking about how often we probably do this in other areas of our lives.

We see someone with a huge circle of girlfriends and wonder whether our social life is lacking.

We see someone constantly surrounded by extended family and wonder whether our family should be closer.

We see someone traveling constantly and wonder whether we're adventurous enough.

Someone starts another business, takes on a major new project, fills her calendar with volunteer work, buys a second home, becomes completely involved with her grandchildren, or reinvents herself in some dramatic way—and suddenly we're evaluating our own lives against hers.

Not necessarily because we want what she has.

But because somewhere along the way we've picked up an idea about what a rich, meaningful, successful or fulfilling life is supposed to look like.

That's where comparison becomes particularly sneaky.

Sometimes comparison doesn't make us want someone else's life.

It makes us question whether we're allowed to want our own.

There's nothing inherently better about having five deeply interconnected friendships than having a handful of more independent ones. There's nothing inherently better about having a packed social calendar than spending a lot of time alone. There's nothing inherently better about being constantly surrounded by family than loving your family while also enjoying considerable independence from them.

The question isn't which version of life is better.

The question is: Which version actually fits you?

That requires discernment because our first emotional reaction doesn't necessarily give us the answer.

My initial feeling was bewilderment. Underneath that feeling was a thought: This is unusual. I don't have this.

And underneath that was an interpretation: Maybe I should.

Had I stopped there, I could easily have concluded that my discomfort was telling me something was missing from my life.

But feelings are information. They aren't necessarily conclusions.

So instead of deciding I needed more friends or deeper friendships, I kept asking questions.

What am I actually reacting to?

What are the facts?

What meaning am I giving those facts?

Am I genuinely dissatisfied with my friendships?

Do I want something different?

Or have I simply encountered someone else's version of a fulfilling life and momentarily mistaken it for a standard against which I should measure mine?

That last question changed everything.

Because I could appreciate what I had witnessed without needing to replicate it.

Those relationships appeared to bring tremendous richness and meaning to the people involved in them. That's wonderful.

They just aren't necessarily the relationships I want for myself.

And there is something incredibly freeing about being able to say that without judging either choice.

We spend so much of our lives absorbing ideas about what we should want.

Sometimes those ideas come from our families. Sometimes from our peers. Sometimes from our culture. And now we have social media giving us a nearly endless supply of other people's lives against which to measure our own.

The challenge isn't simply learning not to compare ourselves to other people.

I think it's learning to notice when comparison causes us to question desires we were perfectly content with five minutes earlier.

Maybe the better question isn't, Why don't I have what she has?

Maybe it's:

Do I actually want what she has?

And an even better one:

When I imagine having it, do I feel longing—or pressure?

Longing deserves our curiosity. It may be showing us something we genuinely want more of in our lives.

Pressure deserves curiosity too. But it may be showing us something entirely different: a belief about who we think we're supposed to be.

The goal isn't to build a life that looks rich from the outside.

It's to know ourselves well enough to recognize what actually makes our own lives rich.

Someone else's version of a beautiful life can simply be beautiful.

It doesn't have to become evidence that something is missing from ours.

A Question to Take With You

The next time you notice someone else's life causing you to question your own, resist the urge to immediately change anything.