If we wrote memoirs, we could each write a moderately long chapter on the various ways we have been rejected. It is a chapter we would rather edit out, but I am beginning to rethink its value in our stories. Rejection comes in different forms and within different contexts; they can be impersonal or acutely personal; and they tend to cause stagnancy in the context in which they occurred. Upon receiving a rejection letter for a job, for instance, most of us are not inspired to send out more resumes (but we do anyway if we really need a job). Upon being dumped, we do not feel like checking out all those other fish in the sea because we know now that they are actually piranhas. These feelings are normal and, in my opinion, healthy. There is a kind of mourning process associated with rejection - a loss of hope, of the image of the person you thought you were going to be, of the time you spent in pursuit of the goal in question. I have experienced rejection, both personal and professional, and I am very familiar with these feelings. They are old friends; I know I can count on them whenever I call on them. I'm going to stick with that metaphor.
You know that saying, "Make new friends, but keep the old"? I'm trying to think about rejection that way. Let me say up front that I strongly dislike it when people sugarcoat rejection, especially those who do so as they are rejecting you. Phrases like "I hope we can still be friends" and "Your resume is impressive, but we have given the position to someone else" are sugar in the wound. At least salt helps dry it out. I prefer to be let down in a straightforward way which does not require me to feel pitied or conflicted about being upset because the rejecter was so nice. I think most of us can admit that we have been the rejecter before and that we have done this kind of rejecting. Anyway, back to the metaphor. We all remember the first time we felt truly rejected, our first real heartbreak, and that heartbreak inevitably shapes who we are. Each subsequent time we are rejected, we revert back to those feelings we had upon our first rejection. Thus these feelings of inadequacy, anger, sadness, etc. are old friends, and we find a kind of comfort in greeting them again. We need these friends, need to experience these emotions. But we also need to make new friends (a metaphor for opportunities in general). If we are wise, we will choose our new friends with great thought and care. We will choose because we think this friend is worth the risk of being vulnerable and even being rejected. If we take this risk enough, we will find that we have more friends and that the ones who rejected us do not cause us as much pain. When a new friend does reject us, we may still call on our old friends, but at a certain point, we will call less on them and more on ourselves. Make new friends, keep the old, and, above all, be a friend to yourself.
I chose to submit an essay to two literary magazines and to sing in front of a group of about 100 people, two things I have wanted to do for a long time, because for the first time I feel prepared to support myself if and when rejection occurs. And you know what? I did these things after being rejected in an unrelated context. An added benefit of being rejected: you can create art with those emotions. And that art might just be rejected. Here's to being an artist.
