Newsletter Reflections

Releasing Disappointment and Remaining Open to Possibility

I pursued an opportunity recently. But after I learned more, I decided that I didn’t want it. Yet when the opportunity was taken away from me, I was hurt. It was a little blow to my ego. I wanted to be wanted even though I didn’t want them in return.

That seems rather immature on the surface… But it made me realize how much we can personalize not getting what we want, and make it a reflection of ourselves when it usually isn’t.

We tend to want a lot of things. Some are tangible, like a relationship, job, or object, and some less so. We may also want an invitation, an acknowledgment, an apology, or a particular reaction or outcome. There’s nothing wrong with wanting. Wanting can lead to striving and achieving. It can create exciting opportunities and experiences. It can initiate new relationships, inspire meaningful changes, and bring contentment, gratification, and peace. 

But the truth is, most of us don’t get everything we want. And how we handle that unfulfilled wanting can have an impact on our peace of mind and quality of life. 

When we don’t get something we want, we can feel disappointed, rejected, cheated, disheartened, frustrated, or even diminished. Sometimes we attach meaning to the loss that goes well beyond what actually happened: I’m not good enough, they don’t value me, nothing ever works out for me. The wanting itself may have been reasonable. The reaction to not getting it may have been manageable. But our reaction to the deeper message we attached to not getting it can make the loss much harder to move past.

Humans have been wrestling with the challenge of wanting for a long time. Different philosophical and spiritual traditions have approached it in different ways, from limiting desire, to detaching from outcomes, to accepting suffering as an inevitable part of being alive.

I’m not particularly interested in learning not to want things. Wanting adds a lot to life. I want experiences, relationships, opportunities, growth, and reactions from people I care about. I’m willing to risk some disappointment for those things.

The truth is, sometimes someone else gets what we wanted. Sometimes we really are overlooked or treated unfairly. Sometimes things just don’t go our way. And we’re going to have some feelings about that. 

I’m not trying to not have the normal feelings that result when I don’t get what I want. But I am trying to not fight outcomes that I can’t change. There are two things that help me get there. The first is identifying the story I may be telling myself that may be intensifying my feelings. Then I can discard or change that story, and strip away any additional emotions it may be surfacing.

The second is trusting that if something didn’t come to me, it wasn’t meant for me. That can be a spiritual belief, or simply a useful way to accept what we can’t control. Either way, it helps us loosen our grip on what didn’t happen and remain open to what still can.

The issue isn’t that we need to want less or less deeply. It’s experiencing loss without adding more pain through our stories, and then leaving space for something else. What didn’t happen is only one outcome in a world full of possibilities.

Affirmation: I release what didn’t happen and remain open to what still can.

A Different Way to Understand Your Purpose

After leaving my last corporate job a few years ago, I wanted to do something that aligned with my purpose. It seemed like the ultimate achievement, and a sure path to fulfillment, would be earning a living doing what I was put here to do.

There was just one problem: I didn’t know what that was.

But I was determined to find out. I read, explored, and did a fair amount of soul-searching. I followed promising clues that led nowhere. Possibilities appeared and then fell apart. The clarity I expected to find continued to elude me.

I know I’m not alone in searching for purpose. Many people build lives that are reasonably successful and satisfying yet still feel something is missing. They want more of a sense of meaning in their life.

During my search, I came across the idea of dharma, a concept found in several Eastern philosophies. Its meaning varies among traditions, but it is often connected to living in alignment with our true nature, gifts, circumstances, and responsibilities. It is sometimes described as the reason we are here.

That changed how I thought about purpose.

I had assumed there was a specific thing I was meant to do. If I searched long enough, I would identify it and finally be able to live to my full potential. Now I see that purpose isn’t about doing the one right thing. It’s about recognizing the authentic way we are meant to engage with life.

I’ve come to see dharma, or purpose, as our life’s theme. It is the deeper intention that gives our different pursuits meaning and connects them to one another. Someone’s dharma might involve bringing clarity to confusion, awakening possibility in others, fostering connection, or helping people become more fully themselves. It encompasses not only what we contribute, but also the values, abilities, experiences, and perspectives that shape how we contribute it.

One dharma can therefore find expression in work that looks disconnected from the outside. Someone whose theme involves restoring people’s sense of dignity might express it as a healthcare worker, a small-business owner, and a volunteer at a homeless shelter. The roles are different, but each can serve the same underlying purpose.

Looking back, I can see that my own interests haven’t been as disconnected as they sometimes appeared. The things I’ve done have all given me ways to create something meaningful, make ideas accessible, and help people grow. I kept looking for purpose without realizing that the same theme had already been finding expression through many different parts of my life.

That recognition matters. If purpose is one specific pursuit, every new direction raises the same anxious question: Is this finally the thing I’m supposed to do? But if purpose is a theme, we can ask what has consistently felt meaningful, what we repeatedly feel drawn to contribute, and when our actions have felt most aligned with who we are. That requires looking honestly at what calls to us, including the interests we have dismissed as impractical.

This understanding hasn’t mapped out the rest of my life, but it has given me a better way to recognize alignment. Instead of asking whether a job, project, or opportunity is my purpose, I can ask whether it allows me to express my deeper theme.

If you’ve searched for your purpose without finding it, perhaps the problem isn’t that you haven’t discovered the right pursuit. Try looking across the different parts of your life instead.

The pattern may take time to emerge, but you may find that your purpose was never missing. Maybe you've been living it all along.

Affirmation: I am learning to recognize the purpose I already live.

Rethinking What It Means to Be Strong

There’s a song I really like by Let Babylon Burn titled “Unbreakable Again.” It’s a song about healing, resilience, and reclaiming oneself after a devastating collapse. 

I particularly like this part of the lyrics toward the end:

Maybe strength isn’t standing tall,

Maybe it’s surviving the quiet collapse.

Maybe armor isn’t steel or stone, 

But learning how to rise from the cracks.

So many of us, myself and friends included, equate strength with invincibility. If we’re strong, we don’t let things bother us. We can walk away. We can turn the other cheek. We take the hit and keep moving.

But that denies some basic realities of how our brains are wired. We’re built to care deeply about things like attachment, belonging, competence, and acceptance. They contribute to our sense of security and well-being, so when they’re threatened or lost, our brains and bodies respond. Of course we feel pain when something important doesn’t come to fruition, when we lose someone we care about, when we fail at something we really wanted to be good at, or when we feel rejected. Being strong doesn’t mean that we’re immune to any of that. 

Our goal shouldn’t be to not feel the pain, to not need the work of processing it, or to never linger in a place of suffering for a short while. Avoiding those things isn’t a true sign of strength. And it’s an unreasonable expectation of ourselves. 

Our strength lies in our ability to find our way to resilience. It’s recognizing when it’s time to begin moving again, releasing the pain as we’re able, and putting ourselves on a path toward healing. We may not get there quickly or gracefully, but finding our way there is what matters.

I know this from experience, as so many people do. When I initially realized that I needed to divorce my ex-husband, I went to a dark place full of despair and inaction, and spent quite a bit of time there. For a while, I was embarrassed by that. Given the motivation he provided for the divorce, I thought I should have been strong enough to march straight into my future with clarity and conviction.

But I needed to process, even wallow a little. And eventually, I needed help getting out, which I found for myself. And that’s the important part of the story. 

I had no defenses,

I crumpled to the ground,

Then I recognized my value,

And sought help to rebound.

OK, I’ll never be a song writer, but you get the point. 

I’ve learned to shift my point of pride away from my initial reaction to a painful situation toward how I regain my footing after the blow. I may get knocked flat. I may even stay there awhile. But at some point, I find my way forward. Resilience is where I see my strength now.

So when you’re crushed by something meaningful to you, don’t use that as evidence that you’re not strong. View your strength in your ability to recover, no matter how long it may take and what help you may require.

Unbreakable Again is a paradoxical title for the song. After all, the artist clearly wasn’t unbreakable to begin with. Perhaps we should look at being “unbreakable” differently. It’s not about never falling apart, but knowing that when we do, our resilience will help us find our way forward again.

Affirmation: I recognize my strength in the ways I rise and recover.

Two Little Words That May Shape More Than We Realize

I was listening recently to an episode of The School of Greatness with guest Jim Curtis. The conversation centered on the idea that we can’t create a different life while continuing to cling to an old identity. If we want something new, at some point we have to allow ourselves to become new in some way, too.

During the conversation, they brought up what’s sometimes called the “I Am” principle: whatever we place after the words I am becomes a declaration of who or what we are.

I’ve heard this idea before, most notably through Wayne Dyer, but it appears in the teachings of a number of New Age and metaphysical authors and speakers. Dyer placed particular significance on the words I Am, even connecting them to the story of Moses and the burning bush, when God identifies himself as “I Am.” From this metaphysical perspective, these aren’t simply two words we toss around casually. What follows them is something we are claiming as ourselves and putting out into the world.

And yet, we do toss them around casually.

I am tired. I am stuck. I am unlucky. I am overwhelmed. I am terrible at this. I am not good enough.

The metaphysical idea is that these declarations carry energy, helping create or attract experiences that reinforce what we have claimed. But regardless of how we understand the metaphysics of it, the principle calls attention to the power of our own language. What do we declare ourselves to be without even realizing it?

There’s a meaningful difference between what we are and what we’re experiencing. We can feel tired without defining ourselves as tired. We can experience failure without claiming to be a failure. We can struggle to find a way forward without declaring ourselves stuck. Difficult feelings and circumstances are real and deserve to be acknowledged, but they don’t  need to become part of our definition of who we are.

Maybe that makes I Am worth using a little more consciously.

Instead of I am stuck, perhaps it becomes I haven’t found my way forward yet. Instead of I am a failure, It's disappointing that this didn’t work out. We aren’t denying the experience or coating it with false positivity. We’re simply allowing it to remain an experience rather than claiming it as our character.

And perhaps we can become more intentional about what we do choose to place after those words.

I am capable. I am resilient. I am loving. I am grateful. I am open. I am worthy.

Two tiny words we say without much thought may carry more influence than we realize. Whether we believe they’re shaping the energy we send into the world, molding our own consciousness, or doing a little of both, perhaps it’s worth paying attention to what we choose to claim with I am — and making sure it reflects who we want to be and what we want to invite more fully into our lives.

Affirmation: I am mindful of the words I use to define myself.

When Protecting What Matters Means Risking Something Else

In self-help circles, we hear a lot about boundaries. Their importance. Our need to have healthy ones. Our need to uphold them for our personal wellbeing. I'm a strong proponent of boundaries, and I've mentioned them in more than one newsletter story.

But we don't hear as much about the other side of having and upholding boundaries—what we may lose as a result.

The fear of loss is part of what makes boundaries so difficult to maintain. When we see something we value potentially slipping away, it's tempting to ease up. A small compromise can feel worth whatever we hope to keep or gain.

I recently experienced this. A man I'd been dating for two months struggled with my plan to have coffee with a former boyfriend with whom I'd remained friends. I understood his point of view, so I decided to postpone seeing my friend. I thought giving it some time would allow us to build more trust. And frankly, I don't meet a lot of men my age with dating potential. This man had plenty of qualities I liked, and I didn't want to throw away an opportunity.

After two more months of dating and trust building, I again planned to see my friend. But when I wouldn't cancel this time to relieve his discomfort, he broke up with me.

He couldn't accommodate my boundary around choosing my own friends. And I discovered that easing up on that boundary earlier hadn't worked as I'd expected. Instead, I'd spent another two months building a relationship with someone who ultimately needed me to give up something important to me for the relationship to work.

I won't say it wasn't disappointing.

But enforcing my boundary didn't really create the incompatibility between us. It revealed one that was already there.

I think that's an important distinction when we consider what we might lose by maintaining a boundary. Sometimes the loss is real and painful. But the boundary may bring to light a mismatch in values, needs, expectations, or beliefs that compromise can temporarily prevent us from seeing.

That doesn't mean every boundary is inherently healthy or should never bend. Boundaries aren't made of concrete. They can change as we change, and sometimes flexing one is the better choice.

I don't regret the compromise I made early in this relationship. I made it intentionally and for a reason. But the experience reminded me that there's a difference between consciously flexing a boundary and permanently moving it to prevent something from slipping away.

So when the fear of losing something tempts us to loosen a boundary, it may be worth looking beyond the immediate loss. What are we trying to preserve? What are we giving up to preserve it? And is this a temporary compromise we're consciously choosing, or are we redrawing a boundary because we're afraid of what will happen if we don't?

Sometimes maintaining a boundary will cost us something we wanted.

But compromising one can cost us something too.

The important thing is to understand what we're choosing, and to make sure that what we're trying so hard not to lose isn't costing us too much of ourselves.

Affirmation: I accept that honoring my boundaries may sometimes mean letting go.

The Cost of Habits that Have Outlived Their Purpose

Over a year ago, my mother became very ill. During that time, I stopped taking care of myself the way I normally did. My diet shifted toward whatever was convenient or comforting. Exercise, walking, and time in nature fell off the calendar.

At the time, those choices made sense. My attention and energy were needed elsewhere. 

Eventually, the crisis passed. But the habits I developed during it didn't.

For the past year, I've regularly told myself I needed to get back to my old routines. I knew some of my choices weren't particularly good for me. But changing them required effort and discomfort, while continuing them was easy.

So I kept putting it off.

Then I got some recent blood test results. A few numbers were so out of whack that my doctor firmly told me my habits needed to change immediately. I have four months to show progress.

That got my attention.

I'd been treating my procrastination as relatively harmless. Apparently, that wasn’t so.

It made me think about how easily temporary adaptations can become lasting habits.

We adjust to what life requires of us. Financial hardship changes how we spend. A painful relationship teaches us to keep our guard up. A demanding job or family crisis pushes other parts of our lives aside. Those adaptations can help us get through a challenging period.

But repetition turns behaviors into habits, and habits have a way of becoming normal. The circumstances that created them can disappear while we continue living as though they haven't.

Sometimes we're living with old solutions to problems we no longer have.

And even when we recognize that an adaptation is no longer necessary, we can find reasons to delay undoing it. 

We can do this in all kinds of areas of our lives. We maintain a pace we know isn't sustainable. Ignore a spending habit that needs attention. Carry an old defense into a new relationship. Allow something that isn't working to remain our normal.

But postponement often isn't neutral.

Burnout makes us sick. Financial habits catch up with us. A relationship reaches a breaking point. Or some numbers on a blood test make the cost harder to ignore.

Consequences can create the urgency we haven't created for ourselves. They may not tell us something we didn't already know, but they make it impossible to keep viewing our status quo as harmless.

So think about something you've been telling yourself you'll deal with eventually. Maybe it's a habit that needs to change, a conversation you need to have, a problem you've been tolerating, or something important you've left on the back burner.

You probably already know what it is.

Don't wait until you're forced to address it. Choose one thing you can do now that moves you in the direction you already know you need to go.

While the past can explain how we got somewhere, it’s not responsible for how long we stay there. And we don't have to wait for consequences to force our hand when we already know what we need to do.

Affirmation: I choose to act when I recognize that something is no longer serving me.

How We Let Someone Else’s Behavior Dictate Our Own

My niece recently broke up with her boyfriend. He didn’t take it well and posted some unkind things about her on social media. Her reaction was to start planning revenge.

It was a little disconcerting to hear because my niece is a good kid. She’s not someone who typically lashes out at other people. But in this circumstance, she wanted to. She even felt justified in doing so.

You could chalk that up to teenage drama. But a few years ago, I watched a friend respond similarly in an adult situation. Some family members had been treating her poorly for a while. Eventually, she resorted to just treating them poorly in return.

Both situations point to something many of us do: allow another person’s behavior to dictate our own. When we feel wronged, disrespected, rejected, or hurt, our instinct is often to protect ourselves and regain a sense of power. We may tell ourselves we’re imposing justice, establishing a boundary, or just evening the score.

We can end up behaving in ways that are out of character and contrary to our values, and feeling completely justified because the other person started it.

There’s a reason that impulse can be so compelling. When we perceive a social threat or injury, our brains can respond quickly and emotionally. Anger helps mobilize us to defend ourselves. Striking back, becoming cold, or responding in kind can temporarily restore a sense of agency when someone has made us feel powerless.

But there’s a paradox in that response. In trying to regain power from someone who treated us badly, we can hand them the power to pull us away from our own character and values.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t respond to poor treatment. Sometimes a relationship needs to end. A boundary needs to be established. Anger needs to be expressed. We can protect ourselves, hold someone accountable, and make difficult choices without adopting behavior we wouldn’t otherwise respect in ourselves.

The challenge is finding a response that protects us while still allowing us to remain aligned with our values. That can be especially difficult when hurt or anger is overtaking our emotions.

Creating some space before responding can help us reclaim that choice. We might ask ourselves: If this person hadn’t behaved badly, would I still believe this is an acceptable way for me to behave? Am I protecting myself, or am I trying to make them feel what they made me feel? And perhaps most importantly, who do I want to be in this situation?

Those questions don’t determine what boundary to set or what consequence is appropriate. They simply help ensure that whatever we choose is actually our choice rather than a reaction someone else effectively chose for us.

Wayne Dyer captured this beautifully: “How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.”

We generally don’t get to choose how others treat us. We also don’t get to choose our immediate emotional response. But we do have a say in what happens next.

Real power isn’t making someone else hurt because they hurt us. Nor is it tolerating hurtful behavior. It’s protecting what needs to be protected without handing someone else control over the kind of person we become in response.

Affirmation: I protect my power by responding in ways that honor who I am.

The Gift of Telling Someone the Impact They've Had

A friend I hadn’t talked to for a while reached out recently. During our conversation, he told me that I had been an important influence in his life and described how.

It was a beautiful moment. I was moved, humbled, and deeply grateful that he shared that with me. He gave me something I couldn't have known on my own: a glimpse of the impact my life had on his.

It brought to mind a period in my life several years ago when I decided to let some people know the impact they had on me. It wasn’t simply about expressing gratitude. These were people who had unknowingly supported or shaped me in important and consequential ways. They had given me intangible gifts, and I wanted to give them a gift in return.

Most of us go through life without knowing the full impact we have on others. We know what we say and do, but we rarely get to see all the ripple effects.

Unlike George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, we don’t get a Clarence who shows us how the world is different because we are in it. We may never know that something we said gave someone confidence when they needed it, that our encouragement affected a decision they made, or that something we modeled helped shape the person they became.

But we each have the ability to be a little bit of a Clarence for someone else.

When we know that someone has significantly affected our life, we possess information about their life that they don't. We can tell them: This is what you did for me. This is what changed because of you. This is something in my life that might not be here if you hadn't been part of it.

That's very different from simply saying thank you.

It gives someone the opportunity to understand a ripple they created but didn't witness. And with that comes something most of us probably don't receive often enough—the knowledge that our presence in this world has mattered.

Writing those letters years ago was meaningful for me, too. There was something powerful about identifying exactly what another person had given me and recognizing how it continued to live in my life. Sharing it created a sense of connection that gratitude alone doesn't quite capture.

So think of someone who helped shape who you became. Someone who changed a direction, believed in you at an important moment, showed you a different way of seeing things, or gave you something that became part of who you are.

Then write them a letter. Tell them specifically what they gave you and what became different because of it.

They may have no idea.

And what a beautiful gift it would be to let them know.

Affirmation: I give others the gift of knowing the difference they have made in my life.

Finding Enough Quiet to Hear What We Already Know

I was thrown into a tizzy earlier this week. Someone was pressuring me to do something that would financially benefit me. While that seemed appealing on the surface, I was concerned about what it might cost me in other ways.

So I did what many of us do when faced with a difficult decision: I solicited opinions. Some friends steered me toward the financial gain while others encouraged me to protect my peace.

I hate to admit how much I got in my head about it. Meditation helped me start untangling my mixed emotions, but the thing that finally brought me back to myself was a friend who said something like, "I'm looking at your face as you talk about this, Denise. And if you could see it, you'd have your answer."

I felt my expression. It wasn't good.

That snapped me out of my tailspin.

The truth was, I'd had an answer from the beginning. I knew my initial reaction, but instead of giving it proper consideration, I'd placed layers of analysis on top of it in an effort to make the most "logical" choice.

I don't think I'm alone in doing this. We gather facts, make lists, solicit opinions, and analyze potential outcomes. Those are all useful tools. But sometimes there's a point when thinking something through becomes thinking ourselves away from what we already know. 

Part of the problem with seeking advice is that people naturally view our decisions through the lens of their own lives. Their perspectives can help us see things we've missed, but they're often filtered through their priorities, experiences, fears, and values rather than ours.

And even advice that’s offered with our values in mind can get lost when we're too caught up in our own mental noise. 

Facts and data have limitations too. They can tell us what we'll gain financially, how much time something will require, or which option appears safest. They can't tell us what the choice will cost our spirit, whether it aligns with the life we desire, or which tradeoffs we're personally willing to make.

That's where our inner knowing deserves a voice.

That doesn't mean our first instinct is always right. Fear, habit, and resistance can speak loudly too. But our internal response is information worth exploring rather than something to rationalize away.

Ironically, the friend who helped me most wasn't the one who gave me the best advice. She didn't tell me what to do at all. She simply reflected back what I'd been too busy thinking to see.

There's value in seeking wisdom from others. There's value in logic and careful analysis. But ultimately, we have to be careful not to outsource our own knowing.

Sometimes the best guidance doesn't give us an answer. It clears away enough noise for us to hear our own.

Affirmation: I give my inner knowing a voice in my decisions.