Disappointment ≠ Depression
In the words of the prophetic Chumbawumba, “I get knocked down, but I get up again…”
And again. And again. And again.
If there is one thing I do truly well, it’s disappointment. You would think that somewhere along the way I would have learned that expectations are premeditated disappointments. The way to avoid a helluva lot of disappointment is to stop expecting things to turn out my way.
Like, if you don’t expect to get roses on Valentine’s Day, then you’re not disappointed when you don’t. D’uh.
And if you don’t expect to get the promotion you really wanted, you won’t be disappointed when you don’t. So, why am I sitting here crying? Because I expected to get the promotion and I did not. Again. I’ve been turned down for this position twice in the last four years. I am pretty stubborn. Relentless. I don’t give up. I once ran the last five miles of a marathon without shoes because my shoes were killing my feet and I was not about to give up.
There are two ways to handle disappointment. The way I handled it before my last spectacularly awful major depression and the way I handle disappointment after my last spectacularly awful major depression. BD – before depression. AD – after depression. BD, I would have told myself that I am a total loser. I will never be good enough. I would have been pissed off at the bosses who chose someone else for the job and I would have been pissed at the person who got the job.







The great thing about being a journalist in south Florida is you get some really weird assignments. Couple of years ago I went alligator hunting with some wounded vets courtesy of the Wounded Warrior Project. I’ve been assigned to go scuba diving to cover damage to coral reefs. Chased oil in the bayous of Louisiana after the BP disaster. Been to more crime scenes than I can remember and lived to write about three hurricanes. I walked on death row a few times. Watched a man die in the electric chair. Even sat in the electric chair during one visit.


