I'm disappointed in me, too
This one hit close to home.
Today, I’m sharing a special Kindred Letter—a guest post from Friend of The Quiet Life and exemplary human, , author of Time Anxiety and many other books. (You might remember Chris from our Candlelight Chat last year, which you can watch here.)
This excellent post first appeared on Chris’ Substack. It resonated deeply with me—and I had a feeling it might with you, too. I asked if we could re-share it here, and Chris graciously said yes.
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Here’s Chris:
“In life, you are going to disappoint people. You will not be able to be everything to everyone. But it's not only that! You will also not be able to be everything to people you care about. You will try to be reliable and available, and sometimes you will fail.
"I'm disappointed that we didn't get to spend more time together. You seemed really busy and I felt like I wasn't important. I waited a long time to talk with you but you were never available."
These words cut deep, don't they? When I received this message after hosting NeuroDiversion a few weeks ago, it stung because there was truth in it. I had been busy. I couldn't give this person the attention they deserved. And what makes it worse is that I genuinely wanted to spend more time with them.
When hosting an event, I always want people to be happy. When someone approaches me to ask "how I'm doing," I turn the question around: "How are you doing? If you're good, I'm good." (Yes, producing an event is indeed a very codependent process, at least if you're doing it right.)
But here's the reality: my attention, just like yours, is finite. I'd love to be able to be in more than one place at one time, but I have yet to figure out how to activate this superpower. Sometimes, when I'm trying to focus on the conversation at hand—which might be the only one I'll have with that person—there's something else going on in the background that I can't completely forget about.
And so people feel let down, as if they aren't important.
Famous Among Dozens
A long time ago I heard the phrase "famous among dozens" and identified with it immediately. Like most authors, I'm not a celebrity by any means, but among a certain group of people, I'm somewhat known.
In the world at large, I am anonymous. A few times a week, someone might approach me to say hi and mention reading one of my books. But for the great majority of time, no one notices me any more than any other stranger.
Then when I go to a conference or speaking event, lots of people know me! They line up to chat. I feel like a micro-celebrity of sorts, like maybe I’ll get to join Katy Perry on her next 11-minute trip to space, or end up in a VIP seat at Coachella as long as the set ends before my 9:30pm bedtime.
This "famous among dozens" dynamic creates a particular kind of tension—the more people who know you, even if it's a relatively small number, the more potential there is for disappointment. Each person has a reasonable expectation of connection, but the math simply doesn't work out. Time is finite. Attention is limited.
Thinking about this reminds me of one of the lessons from Time Anxiety: it’s not only the things we don’t want to do that we need to let go of. That’s the easy part. The harder part is: because our time in life is limited, we must let go of many things we do want to do—and many connections we want to nurture.
One time, several years ago, I was rude to someone in an elevator. I was in a hurry and ended up in an entirely unnecessary verbal altercation. I felt like I had to get my way, even though the issue at hand—which floor the elevator would stop at first—really didn't matter.
The other person broke the standoff with the beautifully disarming words, "Hey man, we're all trying to get through the day."
Wow. Ain't that the truth?
I still think about this encounter years later. We're all trying to get through the day. Everybody is going through something. Time is limited for everyone.
Disappointing others is a universal condition of human limitation. Just like me, you will disappoint people who want more time or attention from you. And others will disappoint you, too, often for reasons that have nothing to do with you.
When someone can't give you the attention you desire, it doesn't necessarily mean you're not important to them. It might just mean they're human, juggling more than they can handle, and trying their best to navigate their own limitations.
Perhaps this mutual disappointment is a natural part of human interaction, rather than a failure? Perhaps knowing we're all imperfect and unable to be in more than one place at one time can help us extend grace to one another?
"I'm disappointed that we didn't have more time together."
Well, you know what? Me too! I wish we could have, but then I would have disappointed someone else, and sometimes life feels like a constant state of relationship triage. Make someone happy, disappoint someone else.
If I've disappointed you at some point, I'm sorry. I'm disappointed in me, too. But maybe it’s good to remember that we're all just trying to get through the day, doing the best we can with the time and attention we have.
Questions for us to discuss right here (please leave a comment):
*Can you think of a time you disappointed someone?
*What do you think of Chris’ statement that “sometimes life feels like a constant state of relationship triage”?
*As his piece suggests, Chris is the type of person who readily gives other people the benefit of the doubt. I love this approach so much that I once thought of writing a book called exactly that: “THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT.” What’s your reaction to this approach to life?
This one comes at such a perfect time for me, the day after Mother's Day. I still struggle with wishing that I could have done more, done better, been better, loved better with my mother...the daughter-mother relationships can be challenging. At least they were for me. I struggle with the disappointent in myself, the guilt, the sadness...and the need to keep working on forgiving myself and giving myself some grace in knowing that I did what I could at the time, imperfect as it was. And it's the same with friends today...I struggle at times with attention that I need to pay to them, and the, at least at this time in my life, extra time and solitude that I seem to require these days to keep going. I love what Ram Dass wrote...."We are all just walking each other home." And even though I seem to have to walk quite a bit of it alone these days, I try and send loving energy toward others, even in brief interactions. And try to remember to send that to myself and my own wounds. We are all so very human.
It's one thing to disappoint others, it's another to feel like a disappointment. I never want to make anyone feel that way. As Jo Sala states here, it comes at a perfect time, Mothers Day, but for a different reason. Mothers Day has become a day I dread, mostly for the assumed and expected absence of my son or any sign of him (card, please?). This year, actually a few days ago, I decided to write him and let him know that it was important to me that he acknowledge me with a card (trying to protect myself from disappointment, which actually feels like grief). He came through, and I was very aware of not wanting to make him feel like a disappointment to me. Fine balance between taking care of myself and expressing my needs, which is always hard for me.
I appreciate this post for it's honesty and self-revealing humility. The moment in the elevator, I can relate to that, and the aftermath of feeling disappointed in myself..."what came over me???" It is usually some form of self-absorption or righteousness. My mantra will now be, 'Hey man, we're all trying to get through the day.."