One of my grandmother’s favorite sayings was, “Into every life, a little rain must fall.” Then, she’d add with a knowing wink, “Remember Bonnie, raindrops help things grow and make us grateful for the sunshine.”
As usual, grandma was right: disappointments do have a way of building character and teaching us to appreciate life’s everyday pleasures.
Since I’ve been wading in a tank of disappointments lately, I decided to look up the word and see if dissecting it would help me understand why it has the power to hurt in spite of grandma’s sage counsel.
The root, or base, of the word is “point.” Of its 50 meanings, the one that applies to the emotion in question is: to aim toward some direction in thought, word or deed.
Adding the first prefix, “a-“, strengthens the concept by emphasizing that it’s not just a general direction but a specific, fixed point AND that arrangements are being made to arrive at that end.
As most of us are aware, the next prefix completely transforms the word and its inherent optimism. Attaching the prefix “dis-” to any word means literally “to tear apart or asunder” the primary definition. It turns the term inside out or upside down, reversing or negating the original intent.
So, we’re disappointed when we: have a goal, do everything we can to meet it and then have an outcome the opposite of what we intended, expected or hoped.
Just as rain can fall in the form of a mist, drop, sleet sheet, hail stone or snow flake, disappointments can descend in a variety of shapes and sizes as well. The level of pain they inflict depends on our personal values or how important the “points aimed for” were.
We can be disappointed in our career. We can prepare for, work hard at and devote ourselves to our job. Then, the person in the next cubicle (who just happened to be in the right place at the right time) gets the accolades or promotion. Instead of getting ahead, we get left behind.
We can be disappointed in relationships. We invest time, money and energy into someone we care about only to have them betray us or dismiss our attention as unimportant. Instead of a reciprocal friendship, we get used and tossed away.
We can invest hard earned money with the hope that the financial sacrifice will mean an early retirement or traveling in our golden years. Later, we find out that the idea didn’t fly or the CEO skimmed millions. Instead of making money, we lose it.
Or, we can be disappointed with God. For me, those hurt the most and take the longest to sort out. (Please note that I didn’t say “God disappoints me.” He’s not the one setting a point and failing to meet it!) Instead of having God meet the goal I’ve set for him – instead of getting what I want when I want it – I get reminded that I gave my life to him and he’s spending it wisely and generously in ways I may never comprehend this side of heaven.
Like most folks my age, my life has been pock marked by a lot of rainy seasons. Over the years, I’ve created some coping strategies that have proven helpful in channeling or diverting those downpours:
– Admit. I’m not motivated to move out of the rain until I acknowledge that I’m getting wet where I’m standing.
n Ask. What part did I play in missing the mark? Was my goal realistic? Did I do everything I could? How might I do things differently in the future?
– Adjust. I usually give myself time to grieve the really difficult disappointments, but after a reasonable amount of time, I simply must turn the corner and start moving forward. Relentless brooding will not change the past but it can paralyze the present or permanently paint the future with bile green shades of bitterness.
We sing a song at church that best describes those character transforming moments. Those times when we remember how smart grandma was. That it’s time to embrace the rain along with the sunshine – the ying and the yang of life – and get on with it:
“I’m trading my sorrow, I’m trading my shame, I’m trading my sickness, I’m trading my pain – I’m laying them down for the joy of the Lord!” Amen? Amen!
Bonnie Evans has lived in Gilroy with her husband Mike for 21 years. They have two grown children and a black lab named Pepper. Her volunteer work centers around end-of-life issues. To support her volunteer efforts, she teaches for Gilroy Unified.
