So Bruce Lee, in all his lean, lightning-fast glory, once said: “I’m not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you’re not in this world to live up to mine.” Every time I read that, I feel like he’s looking directly at me—probably side-eyeing me, actually—like, “Hey buddy, stop twisting yourself into a pretzel just to make everyone else happy.”
And honestly? That hits.
The Sticky Web of Expectations
I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent way too much of my life playing the expectation game. Family expects one thing, friends another, society a whole buffet of “shoulds.” You should get a certain job. You should date a certain type of person. You should buy the house with the lawn and the matching mailbox. (Meanwhile, my dream mailbox would probably have a gargoyle perched on top, glaring at the mailman, so yeah—expectations and I don’t really vibe.)
What Bruce is saying isn’t just about rebellion for rebellion’s sake—it’s about freedom. Living up to someone else’s expectations feels like carrying around a backpack full of bricks. At some point, you either collapse under the weight or you shrug the whole thing off and walk away lighter.
The Messy Business of Being Yourself
Of course, the fun part about living outside expectations is that it’s messy. You don’t get a tidy roadmap. People give you that look—you know the one, the mix of confusion and mild disappointment, like you just told them you prefer pineapple on pizza or that you never watched Game of Thrones.
When I first started writing, I worried so much about what people would think. Should I write something “marketable”? Should I tone down the queer characters? Should I make my stories a little less… weird? (Spoiler: no, no, and absolutely not.) And here’s the kicker—when I finally stopped caring about writing what people “expected,” my work actually started resonating with the people who mattered. The ones who got me.
Expectation Is a Two-Way Street
The second part of Bruce’s quote is sneaky important: “…and you’re not in this world to live up to mine.” That’s the part we sometimes forget. It’s so tempting to judge people when they don’t align with our script for them. I’ll admit it—I’ve caught myself thinking, “Why can’t so-and-so just do it this way? My way? The obviously right way?”
But Bruce is basically handing us a hall pass for humanity. He’s saying: cut people some slack. Don’t expect them to orbit around your little planet. They’re the star of their own weird, messy, beautiful show, just like you are.
A Life Less Scripted
I think about this every time I do something that feels a little off-script. Like, the day I decided I’d rather spend money on French lessons than a new gadget. Or the time I started a project everyone said wouldn’t sell, but I did it anyway because it made me happy. There’s a strange peace that comes with knowing: hey, I’m not here to meet your checklist, and you’re not here to tick boxes for me.
It’s kind of liberating when you realize the only person you really have to impress is yourself. And even that can be tricky—I’m a tough critic of my own stuff—but at least I’m playing by rules I set, not ones handed down by some invisible committee of “acceptable life choices.”
Why Bruce Was Right (and Why It Matters Now)
Bruce Lee was a martial artist, sure, but he was also a philosopher in a tank top. He understood something we’re all still grappling with: expectations are invisible chains. You can spend your whole life rattling against them, or you can just, you know, snap them and walk out the door.
The world’s loud with voices telling us what we should be, how we should act, who we should love, what success should look like. But when you strip all that noise away, you’re left with a quieter, more honest truth: we’re just here to live, not to perform.
And maybe that’s what Bruce was really getting at. Life isn’t about role-playing someone else’s script. It’s about writing your own—typos, detours, gargoyle mailboxes and all.
Thanks for hanging out with me for this little ramble on Bruce Lee wisdom. Now I kind of want to tape that quote to my fridge, just to remind myself every time I reach for leftovers that I’m not on this planet to meet anyone else’s standards. (Unless the standard is not eating the last donut without offering it to someone first. That’s just basic manners.)