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I wonder whether I disappoint other people as much as they disappoint me.

I really don’t know. Maybe I would be unhappy if I knew the truth about that. Maybe I wouldn’t want to know. All I know is that I keep being disappointed in people I’d like to trust. And I don’t know whether that’s their fault or my own.

I grew up feeling disappointed in most people. It wasn’t their intelligence or their abilities that disappointed me. I could deal with those sorts of things. I was disappointed — and hurt — by people’s values. And especially when they didn’t live up to their values.

When I was about 11 or 12, the pastor at our church was having an affair with my next door neighbor’s wife. My sisters and I played with that couple’s daughter and we spent a lot of time in their house. The mom sometimes drove us to school. I figured out — long before it was public — what was really going on. And even though I was young, I felt disappointed in both the pastor and my neighbor.

Tonight, a woman disappointed me for another reason. Part of me is hurt, but another part is numb. Maybe I have no one to blame, though. Maybe I should know by now not to trust people.

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The dreams of my youth are all dead. One by one, they slipped away until I’d lost everything I once thought was important.

I wanted power and glory. I was completely certain that I would become president of the United States. There was surely some ego involved. And a desire to prove my self-worth. But I wanted to do great things. I really wanted to lead the people. I wanted to show the way to our Promised Land.

I wanted success and wealth. I had a passionate desire to build a newspaper empire. In the days of my youth, newspapers were still the most serious of the news media. The most respected. They were also wildly profitable. I wanted to build the biggest newspaper company in the country.

There were others, but those were my two dominating dreams. They meant everything to me. And yet they slowly died. I’ve talked with you before about some of the reasons why. I held onto them for as long as I could. Longer than I should have, really.

But I understand now. No matter how much we want something — or even someone — the time comes when holding on to a dead dream stops us from accepting something better.

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I never wanted to be a rebel. I didn’t want to oppose the established order of my culture. In fact, I was raised to be a conformist.

My teachers taught me the same myths which you probably learned as a child. My country was great. Our leaders were wise. Right would prevail, because my culture stood for all that was good in the world.

Preachers and parents taught me to obey authority. They taught me to obey the rules I was given. I wasn’t taught to think for myself. I was taught to obey without question. I was trained to be a cog in a very large and well-oiled machine — one which would bring me happiness and prosperity one day.

I was happy with that picture. The world made sense to me. I had my place as a part of that culture. I would be a leader and I would one day do great things to help build the society which I had been taught to love.

But an honest man can’t close his eyes to what he’s seen. Even though it’s not convenient for me, I’ve become a rebel against a culture which binds us with hidden chains and which is leading most of us to spiritual death.

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