The Mirage of Want
On how we think we know our desires
Here’s something I know about you.
You don’t often know what you actually want. You think you do, of course. But for most of us, introspection is an elusive thing. Sharp one minute, vanished the next. We are, instead, like voyagers lost in the desert, squinting and blinded by sand and sun.
Of course, the pleas we tell ourselves feel so genuine.
“If only….”
“All I really want….”
“I’m just asking for…..”
But the reality of what we seek is usually just over that next sand dune.
Here’s how it looks.
A couple comes in, their relationship strained. She is sad often, and he doesn’t know how to help.
“I just want her to be happy!” he repeats, half martyred in his sense of selflessness. “I don’t care how – go on a trip, quit her job, whatever. All I really want for her is to not be sad anymore.”
But one night after she has a self-care evening with friends from out of town – connections she has sorely missed - she’s happy. Rejuvenated. Bubbly even. Yet, her husband finds himself angry. He’s forced to admit, begrudgingly, that his desire isn’t fully about her happiness. That’s not what he really wants. He wants her to be happy with him.
A woman has been eager to teach everyone she can about an issue she finds important. Through gritted teeth while watching those same people ignore her, dismiss her words, she says, “I just wish people would listen so the world could be better! If they understood what I’m telling them, things would change.” But one day, someone she knows mentions that same important thing as if it’s new information. The person says they heard about it from someone online, and raves. The information is going to make a real difference. The woman finds herself truly upset – like someone punched her in the gut. She’s forced to admit, wounded and bitter, that her desire wasn’t entirely about making the world better. That’s not what she really wants. She wants the world to be better, because of her.
Too often, we chase wants only to find they’re fractured reflections of something deeper. Some truer craving, but one that is markedly more elusive. Perhaps our mind, knowing the improbability of the latter, throws us the former in hope. Gives us something to seek to avoid a desire that feels so out of reach.
Perhaps.
But what a disservice it is to ourselves to construct such a mirage in our heart. A target that is swept away as soon as we reach it, a lie made of hope and a trick of the eye.
Better to wrestle our wants to the ground first, to tear at each corner to understand what they’re really made of. So that, when we finally stumble upon our oasis in the sand, we can at last drink deeply and quench our thirst.
And rest.
