One of my closest friends has a phrase that adds on to my previous blog post about hopelessness: "Life is full of bitter disappointments."
This can be used at various times, either for comedy or for augmenting reality. For example, when I'm at the Whole Foods and can't find imported Italian hazlenut-chocolate spread and am forced to settle for Nutella, this is a perfect moment for, "Well, life is full of bitter disappointments."
On the rougher end of the spectrum is when something serious does go down the toilet, and then the comic nature of this mini-mantra takes on a more serious, and sadly true, resonance.
But disappointment can be a great light on the path toward living a yogic life. Not getting what we want, whether that's imported Italian goods or a quick-fix to an unhealthy relationship, actually gives us the opportunity to practice on a deep level. Disappointment teaches us about the nature of our expectations and desires, how and where we hoped for something different than the actual outcome, and the ways in which that can throw our equilibrium out of whack.
It's hard to imagine a stronger testing ground for all these principles than when it involves our relationships with other people. There have been countless times in my life when my reactions to a person were less about them and more about my own self-cultivated disappointment in who they turned out to be (or really were all along). Often, we project ideas about who we think/want someone to be, and when they don't live up to our projections, we feel angry, hurt, betrayed, or any other host of powerful emotions.
Yet, this seeming disappointment is actually a light shining down on the little demons who've have taken up residence in our psyches.
When I was in my early 20s, I used to work at a domestic violence shelter, and something that surprised me during my first week was that the women who sought shelter weren't always gals who wilted at the slightest raised voice. Oftentimes, they were loud, aggressive, abusive toward their children, manipulative and rude. I wanted them to be the damsel in distress, so I could tie on my hero cape and swoop down to their eternal rescue. I wanted them to be grateful toward me and the others who worked at the shelter. I wanted them to turn their lives around, leave their bastard abusers and start life anew. I wanted them to see the light!
You know what, though? The national statistics at the time (in the late '90s) stated that a woman goes back to her abuser seven times before she either gets out for good or is killed. And I saw plenty of that. Women whose children hated the idea of returning because daddy was terrifying, and yet for the women, the path toward liberation seemed darker than the path back into an abusive relationship. Off they went home to men who had tied them to the backs of trucks and dragged them over broken glass, back to men who burned them, choked them, and done things so horrible that a simple slap was amateur-hour. And sometimes it was with a big old "fuck you" to the staff at the shelter. No gratitude in sight.
Yet, my disappointment in who I wanted them to be revealed my own issues and needs of being a rescuer, someone who, at the time, needed to feel heroic, needed to feel...well, needed. And this, of course, didn't just apply to the women at the shelter. I played this role with everyone around me. It also showed me that alongside the genuine desire to help people in need, I wanted to be recognized by them and others as being a "good person." Oh, that was ugly. (This hooks into that whole non-attachment to the fruit of your actions mentioned in my previous blog.) However, without the feeling of being "let down," I never would have discovered these patterns in myself, and I would have been robbed of pulling them out.
So, when mistakes are made, and choices reveal a disappointment, lift your glass, chug down the acrid purgative and see what comes out into the light. That bitter disappointment could be one of the strongest graces you've ever received.
Posted on
Friday, December 4, 2009
by Greg Marzullo