It was a sunny warm day in Miami, FL. I was ten years old standing in my schools pavilion in shock

couldn’t believe I got my Jansport backpack from those middle schoolers who stole it 

I rush to open it and push aside books, and binders, and pens to find what I’ve spent the past week desperately wishing I had back

I reach in and pulled out a card deck and sieved through it to find what I was looking for: a rare holographic Charizard Pokémon card. Its ferocity was striking as it brilliantly shined under the beams of sunlight bouncing off it. 

The writing on it looked foreign, making it all the more mesmerizing. 

I let go of my backpack and heard the thud as it hit the group. I gripped the Pokémon card gently with both hands. I stared unblinkingly at it in amazement.

No other kid at school had this card. 

The others kids around me at the pavilion realized what I was holding, and leaned in closer to look. 

As I stood there I heard someone call my name and looked over my shoulder with a brilliant smile that lit up my face   

And in the blink of an eye, I felt a hand brush over the card. 

My eyes widen, as I rushed to look back the other way

Adrenaline coarsed through my veins. 

I felt my heart pounding through my chest. 

I couldn’t believe it was gone! Again! 

My eyes darted across the five kids in front of me. 

I look over at the teacher nearby and get her attention. 

“My card! It’s gone! One of them took it!” 

I noticed them passing something behind their backs. 

I tried to track the hand movements, but couldn’t get a clear picture of where it now was 

The teacher walked over to me, and asked what was going on. 

They looked at her in bewilderment, pretending they didn’t know 

That’s when I realized they were all in on it. 

And like that—it was gone…again. 

That’s when I learned … the sting of not getting my expectations met. Another word for this is betrayal.

In truth, I learned this lesson much much earlier, but this is one memory that sticks out for me 

Through my 10 year old eyes, this was internalized as me not being enough to get my expectations met by my teacher—in this case a metaphoric parent. 

A question to consider for us all: is there anything more painful than feeling out of control by thinking we’re not being enough to get our expectations met?

I don’t know about you but I remember putting on the facade of pretending it was okay to have been betrayed by my teacher, and by my classmates. 

So what did I do? I lied and played it off to mask the shame of not being enough so that I felt in control when in reality I felt out of control. 

Could it be that it isn’t what happens to us that hurts the most, but our perceptions of what happened to us and the meaning we attach to it?

Love and Power,
Alex