The disappointing thing about disappointment is, in those resonant words of Howard Jones:
No one is to blame.
There was an Old Testament professor I once knew who brought a goat into the chapel at the college, symbolically tied the sins of everyone in the auditorium on its back and then chased it out of the room. He talked about the Jewish practice of scapegoating and how it functioned as on of the ways to deal with communal ugliness. The great thing about blame is that you can chase any number of emotions out of town on the back of a good scapegoat.
I'm not saying you *can't* scapegoat your way out of disappointment. Loads of people do it all the time. I'm pretty sure I've done it. I'm pretty sure it feels cathartic.
But ultimately disappointment has everything to do with our own hope and outcomes we didn't hope for.
And a mature perspective recognizes that time and rhythms and relationships will extend new hope to us eventually, but maturity will also recognize that we shouldn't race promiscuously toward any bit of hope that might be available.
I do that a lot. (the immature promiscuous race, that is.)
So today I'm going to try to just be disappointment. No scapegoats, no irrational headlong drive toward new hope.