Accepting disappointment

I received a group email on Facebook yesterday from my salsa partner, announcing that he’s quitting our group. He stated good reasons for quitting, reasons that beg empathy, which I extend to him. The end result for the moment at least is that I have no partner for our group performance on January 20. Our coach has already asked two people if they can step in–two people I’d be happy to dance with.

I thought my partner was my friend, and that in this circumstance he’d call or email me privately first. He didn’t, for whatever reasons he had. I expect that when I see my partner again, and I will see him again, I’ll pretend that he doesn’t exist. Or, I’ll smile and say hello and shift my gaze around the room as if I don’t know him. Because I am childish like that. He might apologize to me directly (although after the sharp email I shot off to him yesterday, I’m not expecting it), and if so, I’ll kindly accept it. But I won’t trust him again. I’m still angry, and highly disappointed, both in the breach of trust I feel and in the unexpected change.

I do not like change that I don’t initiate. It leaves me feeling panicked, twisty, dizzy and disoriented. I deal well in a world where I know what I can expect. My reaction to unexpected change usually follows this path: fury, disappointment, grief, whining, panicking, whining some more, taking it personally, whining again, calming down and then–and this is the kicker–distancing. Occasionally I reach acceptance, but distancing always peppers that stew.

I felt the same kind of disappointment two weeks ago when my mother announced that we would be, for the first time in family history, celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve. During childhood, we’d often have friends over on Christmas Eve for chocolate fondue, caroling and drinking, but we’ve never opened gifts and had our big meal on that day. As a result, my arrangements with Lauren’s dad center on having Lauren with me for part of Christmas Day every year so that we can be with my family all together. This year, our kids won’t be with us until about noon on Christmas Day, spending the Eve with their other parents. When I told my mother, upon her pronouncement of this year’s festivities, that I felt very disappointed (to put it lightly) about her unilateral change, she replied, “Well, I don’t feel disappointed.”

I’m used to having all of my family together for Christmas. It wasn’t the date change that felt disappointing, but rather that my kids wouldn’t be there. Turns out that my sister and her family will be at her in-laws on Christmas Day, so if we have the gathering that day, they’ll be missing, which is not only disappointing but apparently was my mother’s (unstated) real reason for wanting to do a Christmas Eve gig. In the end, we decided to have our family celebration the week before Christmas, on my mom’s birthday, so we can all be together, and to go hang out and open stockings on the day itself. That’s better. I still feel disappointed in my mother’s lack of disappointment. It feels like a shun, like I’m not important.

I know it’s not about me. Change I don’t initiate rarely is but somehow, that kind of change feels most personal.

No one likes feeling disappointed. I’ve just noticed that I seem to take it harder than most. What is it that I can’t accept?