A Disappointing Essay

I am disappointed.

It’s a vague general disappointment, like when you watch a Youtube video of a bullmastiff playing with a kitten and the kitten doesn’t get eaten…. or when you find out all the colors on candy corn taste exactly the same. I thought it might be a mid-life crisis but then I realized, for that to be true, I’d have to live to one hundred and twenty and NO ONE wants that.

For those of you who don’t know, disappointment is defined as the interval after your anticipation hits a brick wall. It’s when life fakes you out with a stutter-step and you end up face down with a mouthful of grass and chalk. It can be as simple as a hockey game where there is no brawling or that long sexy kiss goodnight followed by a door slamming in your face. What is disappointment incarnate? Carob…

It’s checking and double checking every number on the lottery ticket except for the date of drawing. It’s when identical twins don’t answer you in unison or use that creepy “twin language” that started abruptly after their stepfather “fell” from the roof. What is the animal embodiment of disappointment? A cat that doesn’t land on its feet… just lands on its side with a sickening thud.

Oscar Wilde once said, “Never marry at all… Men marry because they are tired, women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.” This must be true because Oscar Wilde knew a thing or two about disappointing women. Yeats said, “Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.” You may disagree, but it certainly explains the half built rocket ship in my backyard. Friedrich Schiller once said, “Disappointments are to the soul what a thunderstorm is to the air.”. It would’ve been a brilliant remark if he hadn’t made it when asked if he could pass the potatoes…

When I’m disappointed, I go for a run… but I never make it as far as I wanted to and that makes me even MORE disappointed; then, I get disappointed that what I thought would fix my disappointment was disappointing. Then, I usually throw up because I only run once every five or so years. It takes a toll.

So, why am I disappointed? I guess I’m disappointed mostly because I’m not James Bond. I grew up watching the Bond movies and naturally assumed I’d be him when I became an adult. I didn’t look anything like him growing up, but, after learning about the stages of insect development, I assumed I’d build a chrysalis and emerge looking like Roger Moore and immediately after, break out in beautiful dangerous women on each arm… My parents did a lousy job explaining the “birds and the bees”.

I guess I’m really disappointed in myself for growing old. Yes, intellectually I knew it was inevitable, but a little part of me assumed I could beat the system. Now my life is cottage cheese on salt-free crackers and falling down in public more than I like. I keep expecting science to step in and take care of old age like it handled the dreaded Restless Leg Syndrome. But, science is too busy developing a phone that also gently cleans your ears while you talk. I didn’t want to die young but dying old is WAY worse. I can handle the slow atrophy and forgetting why I’m putting my pants on. But…

I don’t think I’ll be able to handle the disappointment…