Avoiding disappointment is something I've drastically improved at over the years. When I was younger, I learned that if you allowed your hopes anywhere near what you actually wanted, you were unequivocally setting yourself up for misery. And so I quit hoping. Suddenly, life seemed a little more realistic, albeit boring. Sure, some might think I'm not optimistic, but I beg to differ. I'm happy, and enjoy my life without getting hopes up. These disappointment "possibilities" range from monumental (I'm going to Europe!) to minor (is that letter coming today?). If I always prepare for the worst, I am guaranteed better. I find it's a good philosphy.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday, I heard that my uncle was planning on marrying in Las Vegas, and was bringing his children with him for the wedding. My cousin, Kirstine, wrote that she would be coming to the states, but only for a few days. Quickly I worked out a plan. Could I come and see her? She's one of my favorite people in the entire world. I got the time off work, I talked to the right people, I looked up flights. I was going to see my favorite cousin.
I found out this morning that she wasn't coming. Brutally, I was pulled back into reality. "Stupid girl," I told myself; "did you really think she could come, and somehow you could pull off seeing your family?" Grimly, I remember my old credo of keeping low hopes, even (*especially*) when you think it's a sure thing.
One thing is certain. I haven't cried like this over a disappointment in several years.
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