I bought a treadmill many years ago. His name was Henry.

The memory surfaces without warning, triggered by a fitness ad or someone jogging past my window. I remember the certainty I felt following the purchase. His arrival would transform me into someone who woke before dawn, whose body matched their ambitions, whose discipline finally aligned with their dreams.

The math was simple. I wanted to be fit. Henry would make it happen.

Henry and I went on exactly one walk together, followed by the immediate realization that we'd both made a terrible mistake. The basement felt airless for the entire thirty minutes while my sore legs could not wait to get back to my desk. Henry's digital display blinked in judgment, as if he too had been sold a different story.

After that day, he stood in that corner, weighted by good intentions. Only to be sold, years later, to another family anchored in the same conviction.

How did I convince myself that ownership would transform intention into action? Where does that kind of certainty come from?

Expectation gap is the psychological distance between what we anticipate and what actually unfolds.

It operates in the background of our daily decisions. We buy the gym membership imagining discipline will follow. We plan the perfect evening expecting peace to arrive on schedule. We rehearse difficult conversations assuming we know how they'll unfold. But the gap always reveals more about us than the outcome.

Our brains evolved as prediction engines, constantly constructing mental models of future experiences. These forecasts feel remarkably concrete. They are so detailed that we begin treating them as reliable previews rather than educated guesses. The planned vacation isn't just a trip; but the restoration we're counting on. The new job isn't just a role change; but the identity shift we expect. But remember, when reality arrives, it carries its own script.

Most expectation gaps aren't failures of prediction, they're revelations of assumption. We assume that wanting something badly enough will make it easier to do. We assume that the right conditions will unlock hidden reserves of motivation. We assume that purchasing a solution is the same as implementing it.

The gap persists because we keep trying to make reality more predictable instead of examining why we trusted our forecasts so completely.

What if the gap isn't telling us we're bad at planning, but that we're human at hoping?

Notice what you expect from your Wednesday morning. Notice the small things. How your coffee will taste. How that conversation will go. How you'll feel after your walk.

Our minds creates dozens of tiny forecasts each day. Most happen below conscious awareness. We expect the checkout to take five minutes. We expect to feel energized after lunch. We expect people to change.

But what happens when the coffee tastes flat, or when a conversation takes an unexpected turn. The interesting moments live in the mismatches.

Try this: For one day, catch yourself in the act of expecting. Don’t judge, don’t change. Just notice.

What small prediction surprised you today, and what did your reaction teach you about what you assumed you deserved?