Today I was brought up short and forced to engage with disappointment. Don’t get me wrong, I frequently feel disappointed but there is, I found myself thinking earlier, a subtle difference between the two.
Disappointed tends to come from the outside: someone has let you down, someone has spoken badly of you, someone has changed the plans, again. Disappointed lingers on the outside too. When we are the victim of someone else’s plans or circumstances it doesn’t often affect us as much. We surprise ourselves with an ability move past it, the soft blanket of knowing we did what we could wrapped around us. We might even pull it a little higher and feel compelled to forgive, to try again. I think that’s very human, and often why we get hurt.
I’ve felt disappointed in many of the developments I have seen since coming back to this village twelve days ago. Yet this afternoon there was a disappointment which came from inside, truly, the way that only disappointment can.
As I have often alluded to in these posts, I am good at doing. I know myself well enough to say with confidence that when there is some emotional upheaval going on, I make it background noise by doing. Humorous as it is, even this blog is testament to that which a part of me must consider disappointing, perhaps even saddening.
I should have realised of course but that’s life: once we think we have worked out a way to start afresh we are inevitably stopped to see that the colours of our new revelations are still framed by the experiences that has made us who we are.
And that might not be a bad thing. It did catch me off guard today though.
When I was faced with disappointing news that I could accept and forgive, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something I have been trying to force out of the foreground.
There is a disappointment to the fact that I did not go to India. Though I thought I felt at peace with the decision, perhaps what I don’t feel so comfortable with is that some of why I made it has laid bare aspects of my personality that cause this sense of disappointment.
We all seek out the ways we need to get through whatever it is that needs getting through. For my boyfriend it often to sit in silence and meditate. For me it has always been to get out and be active. I already think too much so meditating has the tendency to appear akin to throwing myself to the wolves.
Since I deleted my angry post about yoga, I have been unable to pen something similar. The combination of writing it, with these days, has left me wondering whether or not it is yoga that I have a problem with at all.
Well, yes it is (!) but it is also possibly the act of yoga that should remain untouched in my usual attacks. If it bothers you so much its because it means something to you, right?
And yoga has bothered me terribly in the last number of months. I have been vicious about it, worst of all to people who practice and who actually don’t fit the mould of what I have chosen to see as not just a stereotype but a fact. Right now with all that I have not got going on in my life the thoughts of lying down to tune into it in the carnivorous silence of a yoga hall doesn’t seem all that welcoming.
I resent people telling me that’s what I need to do constantly. Today, yes, maybe I did need to engage with the disappointment of not being in India and to realise the extent to which I have transformed my November into a glorified to-do list in order to escape that very sensation.
Maybe I am not alone in reacting this way. Self-love is self-love after all, no matter the form it comes in. It will make me think twice though before I launch myself at yoga again.
Sometimes the most disappointing days really do hold valuable insights.