Frustration: the act of being frustrated.
Frustrated: disappointed, thrwarted, dissatisfied.
These definitions even frustrate me because they don’t really come near to the reality of the frustration I feel right now. It is stress oozing out of every pore of my being.
“Frustration, although quite painful at times, is a very positive and essential part of success.” A guy named Bo Bennett said that. Who is Bo Bennett? Well, he’s a husband, father, martial artist, motivational speaker, amateur comedian, programmer, author and business man. He started his first business at age 10 and since then has sold numerous businesses for anywhere from $1 to $20 million.
So, I’m guessing this guy must know a little bit about success. If frustration is part of it maybe I need to be accepting it rather than finding reasons to try to push it away.
The deal is I’m trying to begin an online magazine. I have articles written. A photographer has taken pictures. Other pictures have been scanned in. For several months now I’ve been planning and working on this. I know what I want to do and how I want it to look but I just can’t get the pieces to fall into place.
I’ve heard it said that frustration is just veiled anger. And if that is true, then I think it must be myself I’m angry with. I’m angry because I am not making this happen by the time frame I wanted it to happen. I’m angry because I have all the pieces but I can’t figure out how the puzzle fits together. I’m angry because I feel stupid and old and frustrated.
I do have to agree with Bo, however. I’ve learned an awful lot about what doesn’t work and those things I can just check off the list of how to make it work. That must mean I’m closer to a solution.
It makes sense, then, to embrace the frustration and work through it with a fresh start tomorrow. My daughter tells me older brains work better in the morning. I guess we’ll see if that is true.
By the way, my definition of frustrated is to have a mental picture of yourself dressed in a toga, screaming nonsensical syllables at the top of your lungs, running madly down the middle of I-70 pulling your hair out and beating a bass drum. Just a mental picture, mind you, because if you actually did that you would be called insane. The two words, though, are extremely close together in my dictionary.