Remember the idea of Hot Girl Summer?dnd eroticism book The notion that, come the dog days of 2021, we'd all get scantily clad, or sauced up, or crowded among friends, or make out with strangers, or whatever else floated our respective boats?

So much for that. Summer came and, with it, lots of disappointment. People all over the internet lamented their Hot Girl Summer that wasn't. COVID didn't magically disappear. The country was on fire. And we were tired.

I'd argue the disappointment stemmed from setting our sights way too high. Plan for a gorgeous summer of excess and ease, anything but that will be a let down.

So as we crawl toward the end of 2021 — the year of canceled plans, countless COVID variants, the hot girl summer that wasn't — and move into 2022, I propose we drop all expectations. I mean it. I'm going into the year expecting absolutely nothing. I don't want to anticipate anything good, bad, or indifferent. A blank slate. A void. A body floating apart from its overactive brain.

Now this may sound like a negative thing and I suppose on some level it is. There's a measure of sadness in abandoning the idea of a fixed calendar. There's a sense of loss giving up the idea of control. It sucks to toss aside anticipating something good.

But there's also beauty casting aside expectation. Let me explain. Actually, first, let me tell you about my dog.

He's a puppy, not even five months old, and I'm training him in all the, you know...dog things. The idea is to give positive reinforcement for good behavior, like sitting, peeing outside, and dropping one of the million things puppies try to eat but shouldn't. But here's the thing about training a dog: you've got to catch the good behavior (and dish out a treat) or the bad behavior (and tell the pup no) as it happens. Because the dog needs to associate that exact moment with a reward or a scold. The second the moment is gone, it's all confusion. You give a treat like a minute after the dog went to the bathroom outside and it might as well be a week after. Dogs, bless their pure little hearts, are living moment to moment.

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I'm trying to be more like my dog in 2022. One instant to the next.

Not to get all ~spiritual~ on you, but there's a counter culture idea from Ram Das that says to Be Here Now. In other words, actually be where you are. I like that. I think I spent so much of 2021 — and every other year — being elsewhere. I was imagining what the holidays would look like. I was already living for the weekend or my next vacation. I was wondering when I could get a vaccine. I was hoping my wedding would finally happen. (It did).

That is the beauty of having zero expectations. If you're not stuck on what might be, you can try to focus on what is. Sure, you might not be able to take that vacation because the omicron variant is ravaging the globe. But you just made a sandwich and it's got salami, and lettuce, and spicy peppers, and provolone cheese and, oh boy, it's going to be a good sandwich. It's salty and fresh, the spice hits your jowls, and the provolone is sharp, and oh my God, this might be the best fucking sandwich you've ever had.

I'm throwing my hands up at the universe here. I think you should too. Give up and give in.

I wrote in June about the pandemic redefining ambition, how for many folks the things that used to motivate us no longer applied. Frankly who gives a shit about a promotion while the world burns.

I wrote at the time:

"Ambition is a reflection of values. And if, during the pandemic, all you're able to value is staying afloat, then your ambitions are severely limited."

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Making 2022 the year of no expectations is sort of an extension of the idea. I propose placing our values in the moment. If everything from March 2020 onward has taught us anything, it's that we have very little idea how things are going to progress. We cannot change the past and the future has always been uncertain, now even more so. Let go of the expectations and be where you are, as best as you can. Sure you aren't thinking of the good things to come but you're also not stuck on the bad things to come, either.

I plan to sit with myself in 2022. I plan to read a book in a hammock, flipping pages, feeling the city breeze waft a tinge of summer garbage stink my way. I plan to watch impossibly dumb reality TV and really watchit — not simultaneously googling positivity rates. And I plan to eat a really fucking good sandwich and taste every last morsel.