As a New Yorker, I am quite cynical. But as I’ve noted before, I’m actually quite sunny as well. I’m a blend of New York and California. Thus, my cynicism is curved and not pointed. Whatever that means to you. One thing in that vein, that I have been repeatedly told is that my anger is not brutal. It’s my disappointment that is tough. When I fell disappointment, I show it. Sometimes, one can say I’m crestfallen.

By now I’m old enough to expect to be disappointed. Yet, disappointment still surprises me. I truly wonder why I allow that to be so. And, when I’m disapponted it can be heartbreaking. I feel a breech of trust. I feel betrayal. I feel a deep sense of being let down. When I’m disappointed it’s because I had expectations of the person, the place, or the process. That’s why I hate conpany retreats that plaster trite signs such as “trust the process”. No, I don’t want to. Yet, I inevitably do despite all I know.

In summary, disappointment is disappointing. Oh, what a cold spring day has brought.