How to Recognize and Navigate the “I Should” Pathway

I recently wrote about my choice to stop drinking. Since then, a few things have occurred to me:

1. Drinking is just one of the things adults think they “should” be doing

2. We learn to make these choices as kids

3. For kids and adults alike, this is driven by expectation

For the next two weeks, I will publish essays that consider how learning to meet expectation as kids transitions to a sense of obligation as adults. I am calling this the “I should pathway” – the groove of experience and decision making that leads us to make choices as adults that we think we should make but are often not aligned with our personal values. Or, quite possibly, that align with one of our values but not those that emerge as identity-defining during the transition to middle age adulthood. My hope is that by pulling at this thread, we might discover insights that help us unwind and unpack the distinctions between expectations as kids and obligations as adults. With this awareness, we can help ourselves and our kids better recognize that the “I should pathway” is one that needn’t be strictly followed.

A useful place to start is to identify the disparity in expectations and stakes between our kids who face peer and parent pressures and us adults who grapple with similar things but on a larger scale. Though neither an exhaustive nor a studied comparison, the following table serves to support the discussion. Take note that, because this table is of my own creation, it most certainly reflects my experiences and biases. It is likely to echo a middle class, heteronormative, western set of cultural norms.

Unsurprisingly, there is a progression of expectations and stakes when we reach adulthood. Doing well in school sets the stage for performing well in the workplace, while the acquisition of skill and confidence as kids promotes stability and reputation as an adult. While adults’ expectations and stakes are higher, this correlation shows that a clear glidepath exists. Our kids must learn to meet expectations of their parents and peers. Parents often provide reward through screen time, dessert, a toy from the store—but the real value proposition is that by meeting expectations throughout childhood, kids develop a host of characteristics that will suit them in adulthood. Grit, perseverance, confidence, anxiety management / emotional regulation to name a few. By the time we become adults, we trust these characteristics and, hopefully, we intuitively know when to call them to our aid. When a boss is hard on us, when a project doesn’t go well, when we go through a breakup.

As kids, some of us are naturally more adept at acquiring these traits, but they can be developed throughout childhood’s wide range of experiences. It could be tempting, for example, to conclude that kids who make friends easily, who demonstrate behaviors consistent with an extroverted personality, are more inclined to build confidence in social situations, which might also tip the scale toward success in areas such as career performance in adulthood. And while extroverts often do carry more influence in many environments, this social bias does not equate to higher capability. In her book “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking”, Susan Cain writes that “we perceive talkers as smarter than quiet types—even though grade point averages and SAT intelligence test scores reveal this perception to be inaccurate.”

This suggests that learning speeds and personality nuance are not barriers for meeting expectations, even when stakes are high (relative to one’s age). What is it, then, that enables this capability to meet expectations, particularly during childhood and adolescence when it can feel like we’re competing with the extroverted preference? What development occurs in childhood that sets us on a path for progress so that we might deploy the confidence, determination, and grit that help us rise to the occasion as adults? It seems that something else is at work. Though critical, these characteristics alone do not sufficiently explain why we learn to meet expectations because many kids do not possess these characteristics naturally. I know because I was one of those kids. I enjoyed social settings but only with familiar people doing familiar things. For example, I grew up playing hockey. In fact, I often thought there was no other sport worth playing! I had no issue being assertive and competitive when I was playing with my friends. At fourteen, I wanted to try out for a travel hockey team, but when the time came, I was so intimidated by the other kids and the environment that I feigned an injury to avoid trying out. This was a rare behavior for me. On other occasions (sports, school, friendships), I’d demonstrated grit, toughness, and a competitive edge. But as it turns out, not long ago, I experienced something similar as an adult. After several months of deep dissatisfaction, I left a job that dulled my competitive edge – one that I’d leaned on for promotions and raises. Walking away was challenging because I knew this was a job that many would be proud to have. It took time, but I was liberated of any guilt once I’d accepted that not wanting something is not the same as not being capable.

At play here is discernment. As a kid, I learned to determine that the environment and people were as important (if not more important) than the hockey itself. While I’m willing to admit that fear led me to feign an injury, I also sensed that if I’d played for that team, I would have grown to resent hockey, to lose the love I had for it. Similarly, when after only two years I left the job I was supposed to want, I knew it was because it wasn’t the right fit, not because I couldn’t perform.

Discernment comes from being put into situations that require us to evaluate the benefits and repercussions of our actions. And yes, discernment is something we can teach our kids – but here’s the rub: we teach them by not interfering. I now recognize my mom’s silence at hockey tryouts was critical. I’m pretty sure she knew I wasn’t hurt. She may have thought I was being a whimp, but by not interfering, she left me to discern the consequence of my choice. Regardless of the outcome, I was responsible. If I regretted the decision to not try out for the hockey team, I would have still learned discernment from the failure. How do I know? Well, it turns out that I did feel regret. I was able to try out the next day (there were two days of tryouts) and when I later got a call that I’d made the team I still declined to play. I knew that I needed to try, but in the end, I still decided that the environment wasn’t right. Having overcome the fear on my own activated the self-trust that I needed to definitively know that I did not want to play for that team.

Is discernment the foundation? If we help our kids learn this skill (by not interfering too much) are we setting them up to avoid the pains of obligation as adults? In my view: no. Discernment, despite our best efforts, can pledge its allegiance to the wrong decisions. And in fact, this is where expectation transitions into obligation. Consider that as adults we often feel there is a blueprint out there for us to follow. College > Job > Marriage > House > Kids > Promotion > Vacation > Retirement [there are many variations of this blueprint across all income levels]. As we enter adulthood, we deploy our polished skills of discernment in pursuit of these life milestones. It becomes nearly automatic to discern whether a choice will aid our ability to make enough money to support us on this quest. This is certainly not inherently wrong or bad. But it is predictable. For one: peer pressure, though not something I’m looking to unpack here, is certainly at play. While we do learn as adults to fend off these forays of conformity (at least to a greater degree than children), what we don’t learn all that well as adults is how to change the stakes. During childhood we learn to apply discernment toward clearly defined goals of productivity and progress. I should avoid hanging out with friends tonight because I have a math test, and I need to get a good grade. I apply for scholarships in the spring, and I need a good grade to get a scholarship and get into the school I want. While maybe simplistic, this example shows clearly how younger minds discern value of a decision by recognizing the productive value of their decision. If I want a college scholarship, staying in to study is the best choice. The blueprints we find ourselves following as we enter adulthood was set in motion as kids.

Child: listen > get love > be happy

Kid: obey > get rewarded > earn love/friendship > develop confidence

Adolescent: study > good grades > good college > scholarship > access to adulthood

Adult: work hard > earn money > attain family > attain status > increase standing

It is no surprise that adults make decisions that align with their expectations to attain financial and social security. Particularly when families or dependents are added, the increased expectation is directly correlated to the stakes. But the reality here is that we don’t need to deploy our discernment in service only to these value regimes. As we age, personal fulfillment and growth become more important than they were, say, in early adulthood, where it felt practical to focus on the blueprint. Making choices that benefit personal fulfilment and growth can sometimes go directly against these interests. Can someone choose her deep desire to become a pianist over the six-figure job offer that would take her to a new city? Can someone self-impose a demotion to free up some time to begin writing his novel in the margins of the day? These particular situations may not be highly logical—it’s fair to question why someone couldn’t be a pianist or a writer while working and honoring the pragmatism of financial and social security. But is it pragmatic to have two jobs? One that provides financial security and one that provides fulfillment? When we chose career over passion, the argument for misplaced discernment is clearer. Expectation demands that we prioritize financial and social security because the stakes are often loved ones. Tricker to recognize is when our discernment attempts to be equitable but instead diminishes the choices that bring us fulfilment and growth, often by labeling the affiliated activity as a hobby or project, implying that thing is a want and not a need. This is upsetting but not surprising.

After all, we learned as kids and adolescents that production value is preferable to personal values of growth and fulfillment. Or, perhaps more accurately: we learned to align our perspective of growth and fulfillment with production value. And while I’ll again state that learning and prioritizing production value and financial security is not wrong—is indeed a value that I still consider essential in my own life—make no mistake: when we’re taught as kids to “be whatever you want to be”, the system is not set up for that. There are no creative writing jobs or pianist jobs out there like there are for accountants or procurement buyers. And that’s OK! It might be personally disappointing to pianists and writers, but these are value constructs that belong to the dominant culture and aren’t going to be changed in any real macro way (at least not quickly). But it is important that we recognize this truth of our social and economic landscape. I can still encourage my daughter to become an artist, a writer, a creative, but I’ll do so with transparency that statistically it’s incredibly difficult to make a living doing so (I’d also mention that there’s an evolving gig economy that she’ll have access to prove her old man wrong!). My hope is that by explaining that there are different types of value, she’ll be better informed when she makes decisions that align or misalign from the blueprints that favor financial and social value.

But there’s another way for me to demonstrate to my kids that personal fulfillment and growth are values worth prioritizing.

And I’ll cover that, next time.