Hop on the Teeter Totter of Deluision

There are certain unwritten rules in life. One is this: if someone tells you about a looming promotion, a potential engagement, or an exciting prospective event and then says, “I don’t really think it’s going to happen, though” — a little part of that person, roughly 100% of them, believes it will happen. They are placing all their hopes and dreams on a tiny teeter-totter of delusion: one side is "I will finally reach my dreams"; the other is screaming, crying, and drowning in sorrow. Do you see where I’m going here?

When I first started writing, I peddled my stories like a confident newsboy on a red bicycle, certain that everyone would want to read them, run them, and success was just one house away. As it turns out, putting your words out into the world is difficult, and getting them published is even more so. The one thing you’re really committing to is a lifetime of rejection. Amidst the rejection, you still have to believe in yourself enough to keep going. And sometimes things happen that make belief feel a lot like delusion.

Over the weekend, I found out that the pilot I’ve been working on for several years didn’t advance in a competition I had entered and told many people I didn’t think I’d get into. (See above.) I checked my phone for one second during Father’s Day dinner with my husband’s whole family, saw an email come through, quickly scanned it, and felt my throat fall to my butt and my dreams to the floor. I put my phone away and went to get an extra piece of Lou Malnati’s pizza.

When we got home from dinner, I was still licking my wounds, debating giving up my entire writing career and just keeping my thoughts to myself instead of putting them on the internet. Just then, my little guy came waddling down the hall and finagled his way into my bed. He lay his head on my shoulder and sucked his thumb, twirling the corner of his sleep sack the way he does when he’s winding down. I decided to ask him what I should do, hoping for one of those moments where kids prove wiser than we expect.

“Ruben, I entered a story I wrote in a contest, and I didn’t win. Should I keep writing stories?”

He looked at me and thought about it, “No. Can you read me someone else’s book?”

I nodded. This was exactly how I wanted the interaction to go.

After he fell asleep, I texted my best friend, who reminded me that the timing of this contest never felt quite right, and that while she’s too cool to believe in “meant to be,” she knew there was a purpose to all of this.

I’m still coming back from the rejection. But I did show up here today, and I’ll say this: sharing your words with others is one of the most humbling things you can do, especially when those words are personal. If you have tips on getting through a big rejection, I’m all ears.

In the meantime, here is the best rejection of my career so far in response to an essay I wrote about my mother’s tragic death.

And with that, I’ll keep coming back for more.