Rejection sucks. Our fear of rejection causes us to miss all sorts of opportunities, whether that means publishing a novel or going to the prom with the head cheerleader. I applied for a show at the end of January and almost didn’t because I was afraid of rejection. At the last minute I managed to pull myself together, suck it up, and apply. I got a letter in the mail yesterday telling me there wasn’t a space for me. I got rejected anyway.
I was telling my husband about it on the phone, and he said, “I’m sorry that they didn’t realize you’re as awesome as you are.” My immediate response was “it’s not personal!”, but then I realized that my denial of it being personal meant I was making it personal. It FEELS personal. Even the next morning after I spent the evening moping around feeling sorry for myself, it still feels personal. It still feels personal even though I chanted “it’s not personal” as my own inner mantra. I’m trying to take solace in the fact that I’ll have some pieces at the Plush You! show in October at Schmancy in Seattle, which is extra awesome, but this whole thing is like a little rain cloud following me around.
Right after I got the letter, I set the wheels in motion and applied for another show that I didn’t think I’d have time for with this big one looming. My inner anarchist comes to the rescue and flips the bird at authority, saying, “yeah screw you guys, we’ll just go over here instead.” But now, after sleeping on it, in the cold gray light of the morning when the inner anarchist is sleeping it off…
I confess that I’m really extra afraid of rejection now, and I have three more show applications hanging out there.
(In parenthetical news, I have been posting what I’ve been making every day on my other blog – okay for the last three days I have, but that’s enough to consider it a habit, right??!! – but I’m going to start posting about it here, too… Brief post there, more info here. I love this site more [don’t tell], but that blog was super pathetic and needed some love!)