Profound and bitter disappointment; we’ve all felt it, which explains our hunger to watch it on the faces of others. On Oscar night,  where does the camera stay when the winner is announced? That’s right–it lingers on the losers. We are all losers at one time or another. And if it makes us bitter, we lose again. Why? because bitterness makes you hate the world. And what’s wrong with hating the world?

This:

“People do not seem to realise that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson

My dang history, as always

I think it was a good thing to start out humbled. My mom loved me, don’t get me wrong, but I was never the top dog, never the apple of anyone’s eye, never my parents’ princess. So I didn’t have to topple. I didn’t have to learn the hard lesson that even though my parents thought I was perfect, the rest of the world really didn’t care what my parents thought. The world was at best indifferent, at worst unimpressed. So be it. I learned to be strong in myself.

I’ve watched people in the world who have a different expectation. They want to know why the world doesn’t think they are as wonderful and perfect and talented and darling and captivating and destined for greatness as their parents did. Those people are lost out here, and they are angry. They spent their childhoods hearing about how special they are. They are furious at the world for not agreeing. They are perpetually disappointed.

Been there myself.

I don’t know how to fix things for those people, but I know some of their anger because, despite my upbringing, I have tasted bitter disappointment. It’s usually (always) romantic. I think I have a mature handle on handling disappointment graciously, and then life comes along and hands me such a bitter pill that I cannot swallow it. When I’m disappointed in love, I’m as prone to being not-gracious as anyone, really. “I thought it was this way, and it turned out to be that way.” It’s so humiliating.

I’ve wanted to lash out.

And if you’re a writer, you can lash out in long, hateful missives intended to make the other person feel like crap. It feels great while you’re doing it, doesn’t it? Unfortunately, it just doesn’t work, so my advice is to delete those missives before you accidentally send them. Have the catharsis, drain the bile out, hit delete.

But, you say. My words. The truth. My points. These are all very important. He needs to read this.

Nope. No one needs to read that.

You see, by the time the object of your furious desire has moved on, he’s moved on. He’s done all the work before the break up, and he just feels relieved. If you send that letter, he’s going to read it (or he might not even bother to do that) and roll his eyes and think, “Whew, sure glad I’m done with that loon.” Or maybe, “What a petty catalog of gripes and garbage!” Or even, “I never knew that (letter sender) was that mean.” All your letter does is affirm the recipient’s decision to end things.

How do I know this?

Like everyone else, I make choices and I disappoint people. There are people who have wanted me to love them in one capacity or another, and it turns out that I don’t. Usually, I feel sorrow, guilt, some kind of emotional discomfort for disappointing someone, because I’m not a sociopath. But if the disappointed person lashes out at me, I excuse myself emotionally. I no longer feel bad or sorry or anything but irritation. Those attacks are like handing the object of your anger a “Get out of jail free” card. Once you’re mean, the other person gets to dismiss you completely.

(Advice aside: Besides, if you can act like you don’t really care about the breakup, it’s galling to the other person. No one likes to feel unimportant. So go ahead and make him feel unimportant. He dumped you, he deserves it. Take your small and petty revenge and move on. Also, please note that my daughters haaaate this particular piece of KGB advice and think it’s flat-out wrong.)

Disappointment and classical anger.

I thought about this while watching Medea with my guy a few months ago. I understand that Medea might not be your idea of a date night, but it’s ours. And over and over again in this play, Medea is offered a way out of her bitterness, a path out of her spite, a chance at some kind of a life post-husband. And she does not take it. Her anger is more important to her than anything. She expresses it in a way that, while deeply satisfying in the moment, is her doom.

The moral.

So there’s a moral to this blog post. You might be disappointed now, but sometimes if you’re patient, life will give you just exactly what you want. Be patient. It’s coming. And in the meantime, use your disappointment to learn. Learn to be calm. Learn to be patient. Learn to be gracious. Learn to be disappointed.

Because we might understand Medea, but we really don’t want to be her.