Today

I’m going to talk about rejection.

It happens.

Usually for reasons that we never fully understand.

Truly, I think its pretty common. There are many careers that have it built into them. Sales, writing, music, acting, art. But also just getting a job, college acceptance. Making friends…Life is full of chances for us to gamble with rejection, so why is it so hard? How can we make it easier. Should we?

Maybe it just is what it is and we get to experience who we are around it.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time avoiding rejection, thinking that if only my skin were thicker, if only I could get tougher, then.

THEN I will contend with it. Or there’s the: …maybe if my art gets better…

In the mean time, I’ll stick to things I know are a sure bet.

Well.

I went ahead anyway. Skin as is.

I got two separate rejection emails this week.

One from submissions to a gallery, the other from a query letter for my book. They were not fun to read, but I reminded myself that most writers receive several rejection letters before they find acceptance.

The gallery did accept one of my painting and the director (who was not a juror) was excited to sell my book. In their defense, it is a very small town in Connecticut, there were no other abstract expressionist paintings submitted, the theme was very specific and the jurors seemed to favor more obvious illustrations of the theme. The jurors came from other places, even smaller towns. One of the reasons I avoided getting involved with art here was the cultural tradition of sail boats and landscapes. Ironically, my one painting that was accepted, was about me finding peace with feeling like a fish out of water here on this coast. Not reguarding art, just being foreign.

I thought I’d had my share of rejection, growing up, moving a lot, submitting art, dating…I decided somewhere along the way, that it wasn’t my thing. Is it anyone’s? Do I have to dodge discomfort, I don’t think so. I suspect small calculated risks are worth it. I have decided that I can handle it.

How am I feeling now that I’ve absorbed the rejection, picked up my paintings, told people, and lived.

I’m okay.

That’s how I am. I really am okay.