You can't always get what you want.

In fifth grade, the only thing I wanted in the whole wide world was horseback riding lessons. And, lucky for me, the equestrian center a few miles away from my home donated a certificate for free lessons to our school carnival's raffle. The very carnival my mom was putting together to benefit my elementary school.

That certificate, for the free lessons, sat downstairs on my parents' dining room table for two months. And every night, for two months, I laid on my bed (the top bunk) and stared at the ceiling (it was only a few inches away, what else could I look at?) and thought about those lessons. And how much I wanted to win them.

I often prayed for them, too. "Dear God, I will do anything, give anything to get those lessons," I would say. "I don't need new Kaepas for Christmas and I'll pass on another James Avery dangle ring. Please, I'll be good and I'll clean my room and the bathroom and do ca-ca patrol without being asked. Please, just give me those lessons!"

I felt an almost proprietary attitude about them. I mean, my mom was the one partially in charge of the whole carnival. Didn't her very own daughter deserve the lessons as sort of a kick-back for too much Kraft macaroni for dinner and way too much secondhand cigarette smoke from her mother's hours spent on the telephone, recruiting volunteers and soliciting raffle donations? 

The day of the carnival rolled around. I waited patiently by the raffle table most of the day, counting the moments until my name was drawn for the riding lessons. But you know the ending to this story. I didn't win. The lessons went to some third-grade boy who was mostly interested in his own favorite four-legged creature - his skateboard. That didn't mean he was interested in giving the certificate to anyone else, though.

I cried. I cried some more. There was definite wailing and gnashing of teeth. I felt betrayed by God, my mother and by life itself. Those lessons were mine. They belonged to me.

We've all been there. The pain of defeat is sharp and cold, all that harder to recover from quickly when you've patiently prayed for months for whatever it was that would make your life full and were so sure would be yours. Eventually something else comes along to take its place - maybe something a bit more easily attainable (or maybe not) that makes the sour taste of loss a little easier to swallow (or maybe it's just another round of bitter pills).

Life isn't fair. Blah blah blah. If at first you don't succeed, try again. Blah blah blah. The sun will come out tomorrow. Blah blah blah. Tell that to a fifth grader! Tell that to a 33-year-old.

I never did get horseback riding lessons. But I do, often, get back on the proverbial horse again. If we only get one crack at the racetrack, there's no sense in squandering time at the starting line. A recent example for me, among others lately, is my bold declaration related to NaNoWriMo. I'm a week out from the deadline and I'm on Week 2 word count. I'm just not going to make it this year. I will, however, saddle up again in 2009. 

On the plus side, I have three chapters and a prologue, and I'll keep going. Sometimes, you get what you need.