"Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary." -Mark Twain

"So there's absolutely nothing you can do? I really need these books to arrive by Saturday."
"Well, we don't ship on weekends."
"Okay fine, by Friday."
"Well, you need to understand we're a warehouse. We can only start printing once you order your books. Sometimes we end up with a pretty long queue of books to print."
"So there's absolutely nothing you can do?" Much like the lump that was now trapped in my throat, I was trapped in a cyclical conversation.

Last Monday, I was notified that a pre-release version of my novella was approved for printing by Amazon (I'm self-publishing through their platform). I was celebrating my book with friends and family the following Saturday, and wanted to have physical copies present. I knew I was cutting it close by ordering the final ones less than a week before I needed them, but my proofs had arrived within two days the week prior. As I sat there listening to the friendly voice saying things I didn't want to hear, I was overcome by raw, instinctual sadness. The kind of sadness that is conceived by helplessness. The kind of sadness that constitutes childlike disappointment.

Staring at my breakfast and realizing that I quite possibly would not have copies of my book to hand out at my book launch party, I thought about what I could have done differently. Maybe if you hadn't slept early two Fridays ago. Maybe if you hadn't gone to dinner on Saturday. You could have finished editing two days earlier. While they could make me feel worse about the situation, my thoughts couldn't fix it.

I gloomily packed up and made my way to work. The first part of the day trudged along, I smiled and laughed but the persistent lump in my throat made it impossible for me to feel at ease.

I texted my family saying, "There's a small chance that my books won't make it by Saturday. It's not the end of the world, but FYI." My detached tone couldn't change how I really felt, but I was embarrassed by the facts. My parents' response indicated a sort of worry. One that wondered why it seemed that I didn't care about this important day in my life.

In psychology, the illusion of control explains a tendency to overestimate our ability to control outcomes. The illusion of control is just that, an illusion. While there are many problems about it, the most important one is that we end up blaming ourselves when things that we never actually controlled, go the wrong way. There was nothing I could do about the fluctuating demand of Amazon's printing press.

Last Thursday, in the final moments of the NBA championship, Tim Duncan missed a shot that could have tied the game. Though he is typically stoic, after the miss, Duncan's face said it all. It was over, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was that childlike sadness that is caused by disproportional regret.  As I watched Duncan sit on the bench watching the end of the game, I found myself loving him for looking so sad. His mess-up was already haunting him and to me that meant that he really truly, deeply cared. It reminded me of the previous Monday and the news of the my books. While I was rather agnostic to the winner of the championship, I found myself more sad for one individual than happy for an entire winning team at the end of the game.

On that fateful book order Monday, I checked my email around 2 PM. There was only one. Its subject? "CreateSpace Order 343145265 has Shipped." What? Shipped? I didn't even think they could print the copies this week, let alone ship them. I thought I wasn't going to be able to get them in time? How? What? I was in disbelief. I was going to have books for the party!

In today's social world, we only see the best of other people -- their lucky breaks and beautiful escapes. It's easy to forget that what we see is seen through a (literal) filter. In turn, we begin to filter our own raw emotion and hide our true feelings, even from ourselves.

Don't.

As I realized last week, it's okay to be visibly, childishly sad once in a while. It makes you human. It helps others connect with you at the deepest level. It shows love for whatever it is that you are pursuing. It represents passion. And if you do it right, your raw emotion, like most children's emotions, will be short-lived. With some turn of events, be it hard work or fate, your sadness will be quickly replaced by a childlike excitement. And if you haven't experienced it, believe you me, it's a feeling worth being sad for.