One of the hardest things to grapple with is disappointment. That sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach. That awful choking in your heart. The sigh that goes on forever.
At 30, I can accept that I will probably never be able to do a split, never be able to pirouette as gracefully as the young girls in my ballet class. But at 30, I am unable to accept a rejection of my intellect, unwilling to accept a denial of my academic capabilities.
It is really difficult to do a split, the thigh and calf muscles pulled so taut they feel like they are going to snap. It is even more difficult to hold back the crying. How do you un-cry the tears? It doesn’t work, no matter how many deep breaths I take or distractions I try. Because by the time you realise you are crying, the tears would have filled over.
Disappointment sucks big time.