Dis-Appointed

Sometimes I think I’m disappointed with the life I was given. On some cosmic level, maybe I chose it—or at least agreed to it. But still, I can’t shake the feeling that I was duped. Like I was sold a lemon. Shown only the highlights, not the whole picture.

The highlights have been good, yes. But no one told me about the sheer weight of the pain, the loneliness, the uncertainty. Somewhere deep down, I feel like I was made for more than this. That maybe this “appointment” was a mistake.

I keep looking toward the future, hoping things will get better. Truth is, I’ve been doing that my whole life—believing what I’ve been waiting for must be just around the corner. As of today, I’ve invested 49 years, and I still catch myself wondering: When does the good part start?

Part of the problem is my tendency to romanticize. I’ve always been quick to ignore red flags and focus on the good. I put faith in potential—people, situations, possibilities. By the time I see things clearly, I’m usually in too deep. Getting out feels harder and more painful than staying, so I double down. I keep investing, keep throwing good money after bad, still hoping it will turn out the way I envisioned.

If I’m being honest—and I always try to be—I’m tired. Burnt out. Disappointed. Dissatisfied. It feels like other people get what I’ve wanted, and they get it faster and easier.

And yet, I know I’ve lived a privileged life. I grew up in America with freedoms, food, shelter, access to education and healthcare. I’ve never had to survive a war zone or the streets. But what I have known is a different kind of suffering: deep loneliness. The kind of neglect that leaves scars no one can see. Neglect is an invisible disability. There’s no surgery, no supplement, no quick fix to fill the hollow spaces it creates.

Even connection doesn’t erase the pain. Neglect speaks a language that many know but few talk about openly. It breeds shame and secrecy, because when everything looks “normal” on the outside, the conclusion is easy: It must be me. I’m broken. I’m unworthy. I need to try harder to be loved.

Maybe it’s no wonder I built a career out of tending to pain. Out of seeing what others avoid and giving it space. On some level, I’m still trying to meet the childhood needs that went unmet—by caring for others. As a kid, I was drawn to National Geographic. I’d stare at the eyes of people in war zones and feel strangely connected to their grief. I wanted to be a war correspondent, to get as close to raw emotion as possible. What I didn’t know then was that I wouldn’t need to leave my hometown to find it. Pain is everywhere—across the street, next door, even in the bed beside me.

Maybe that’s why pain captivates me. If I can see yours clearly, maybe I can understand mine a little better, too.

The truth is, life isn’t here to make us happy or to cater to our cravings. It’s here to move through us, to show the full spectrum of what it means to be human. The joy and the sorrow. The delight and the disappointment.

And there is room for it all. Peace can coexist with chaos. Joy can be present even in anguish. The sun still warms my skin on cold days. Loneliness can sit beside me while kindness pours in from others. Holding these contrasts—that’s living fully.

Because if life were always exactly what I wanted, it would be boring. Stagnant. I would never be stretched or challenged, never feel truly alive. This realization, when I remember it, softens the disappointment. It reminds me why I’m here.

So, I keep going. I keep renewing my contract to stay. Because as heavy as life can be, I couldn’t bear to miss out on all there is to see and feel.

Surrendering to this way of living is an act of trust. I’m trusting that what I envision is still coming. That the love I invest does matter. And that, no matter how it feels sometimes, I am never truly alone.

Life was never promised to be easy. It was meant to stretch us, to show the full spectrum: joy and sorrow, chaos and peace, delight and disappointment. And there is room for it all- the crazy, unpredictable, amazing, and disappointing.