ah, rejection -- that awful, ugly word. we all know the feeling: unrequited love, receiving a poor grade, being passed up for that job or promotion, losing a game. for me, it's not winning a writing contest.
my fear of rejection has condoned a glass-half-empty outlook that i am constantly trying to battle at home. and when i say battle, it's not just with myself (though a majority of it is within me). i also have my husband to contend with. on one hand, there's me, who often goes into things with skepticism and low expectations, and on the other, there's him, all promise and pure emotion. his excitement is so contagious that i typically accuse him of getting my hopes up when i'd rather stay level, which is believing that nothing good could come from dreaming.
the thing is, if i truly looked inside, i think i'm really the glass-half-full girl. ask anyone at work and they'd tell you i'm the positive one, diligently looking for greener pastures. so when i enter a contest and say, "i'm not going to win" or "this is just practice," inside, my heart is really saying, "what if i win this time?"
which is probably why it always hurts so much when i don't make the cut. i play like it doesn't matter, that i have the potential or the confidence or that thing, the thing which the people who matter haven't seen in me yet. perhaps it would soften the blow if i were more honest with myself from the beginning, but there is no way to tell. i just know that every time i'm told no it aches, a few tears are shed, and my fear tries to overtake me with its acrid words: you don't have what it takes. what's the use in trying?
what is the use in trying? maybe for a breakthrough, the word my husband used to console me. for one day to be seen. for one day to surface. who ever said it was easy, anyway? you don't ever hear from those who have made it that it didn't take some blood, sweat, and tears to get there. and so, i will write. (hopefully, minus the blood).
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