I’m not sure when it started. I don’t remember being any other way. Maybe it was when I lost that spelling bee in fifth grade on a word I should have known. Maybe it was in seventh grade when I gave that girl a note asking her out and I overheard her making fun of it to her friends. Regardless, at some point, very early in my childhood, I decided I never wanted to be disappointed again. It was probably unconscious at first. Gradually, it moved into my conscious awareness. I connected my disappointment, my heartbreak with the fact that I had extended myself, I had let myself be vulnerable, open to wounding. I grew tired of the happening.

I made a decision. I would stop extending myself. I would stop wanting things, stop hoping for things, stop getting excited about things. I told myself that path led to disappointment, embarrassment and hurt. I was not wrong. 

I’ve heard this path is successful for some people. They remove their desire for things and so no longer experience suffering. They do not lack for anything because they do not want anything. They exist in beautiful state of blissful acceptance of all that is. That sounds pretty nice. But it is not the path for me. Probably because I am not very good at it. 

Despite my best efforts, I never stopped wanting. I want friendships, love, admiration, respect. I want to be successful - not knowing exactly what I mean by that. I want everyone I know and love to keep living, and every one else for that matter. I want to learn new things. I want to meet new people who I instantly get along with. I want the TV show adaptations of my favorite books to be amazing and contain all of my favorite moments. I want the teams I root for to always win or at least play well. I want my children to grow up happy in a world where they are loved and valued and appreciated. I want… a lot of things. And I’m not ready to let go of my desire for these things yet. I might never be. Disappointment is going to be a part of my life. Every day, it’s going to show up. I have invited it with my wanting.

My daughter turned two years old a month ago. I’m learning a lot about how to handle life from her. She knows exactly what she wants and she will tell you immediately. Her ideas come to her fully realized. She wants a book, the one about the silly pumpkin. She wants you to read it to her. She wants you to be sitting in the chair on the right side of her table while you are reading. Her stuffed elephant will be in the left chair. She will color with the blue crayon (with the paper wrapping removed) on the opposite side of the table. 

This level of detail in a vision comes with the high likelihood of disappointment. Sometimes elephant won’t sit in the chair. Sometimes we can’t find the blue crayon. Sometimes our son wants to read a different book and it’s his turn to decide. A lot can go wrong, even with the best laid plans. And how does she handle this disappointment? Like the Grand Master of emotional processing that she is. She yells and cries and screams and occasionally flings herself to floor. The world has ended. Then, thirty seconds later, she is happy again. She has no problem with disappointment. She feels it just like she feels joy. It moves through her and then it is gone.

I don't know how to do this anymore. If something doesn't go my way, it's unlikely that anyone would be able to see my disappointment. I bottle it up and pretend it doesn't exist. I keep myself busy so I don't notice it. I look to the adrenaline rushes of getting things done and being affirmed by others to keep me going. But it's a fragile system, one that tends to break down often, leaving me in a state of lethargy for a week or more at a time.

So I'm trying something new. Instead of trying to avoid disappointment, trying to keep at a distance like a lion tamer with a chair, I'm going to welcome it. If I'm disappointed, that means I was excited. If I'm heartbroken, that means I loved. Instead of rushing to the next pump of adrenaline to avoid it, I'm going to slow down and sit with. Probably not always, but sometimes at least.

As part of my practice, I imagine myself sitting in a room as part of a circle. The circle is made of up of myself and each of my emotions. Half of the seats are empty. There is a knock at the door. I go to the door and open it. It is Disappointment. I give Disappointment a big hug. When I think of him, he is a large man in an overcoat with the hood pulled up over his face.

"You are welcome here," I say. "Come and sit with us. I'm so glad you are here."

I imagine him coming in and taking a seat in the circle. I’m grateful for his presence - a seat that was empty is now filled. I’m interested in what he has to say, what he can teach me.

I find this works very well for me whenever I can remember to do it. All of the resistance I felt melts away. I’m not alone in it. I feel a bit braver, a bit more at peace. Disappointment isn’t an enemy. He is a friend, a companion, a partner.