You really can't win 'em all. I wish you could. (On some level, I still believe you can.) But, really, nope, you can't.
Have you ever clicked on the TV to watch a Game 7 of a World Series? A bunch of people have to lose that night. And when, nine or so innings later, a bunch does, there's always one guy who stays in the losing team's dugout, sweaty locks peeking from beneath a Gatorade towel, watching the celebration, sitting and blankly staring at the hysteria overcoming the players on the field.
Losing is painful, but courage is the ability to pull up a chair and invite pain to sit down next to you. The pain of broken dreams, broken friendships, loss, being lost. The pain of letting go.
This isn't ripping-off-the-band-aid pain. This is pain with a roadmap to the soul; pain that drops by uninvited and unapologetically stays a while. Pain that you can't brush off, cry away, or ignore for very long.
What if you don't ignore it? What if you sit with it? Listen to it? Feel it, in all its painfulness? What if you do and begin to realize, after some time passes, that it hasn't beaten you -- maybe can't beat you -- even when you experience heart-shaking loss?