Ride— Afternoon Bike Ride
#365Songs: April 13th
My old writing professors all said things like, “If you can’t wallpaper your house with rejection letters, you’re failing.” That’s not advice that makes sense to a young artist. Or the now-cliche’ prose from the old surly bastard, Samuel Beckett — whose foolishly optimistic characters are famous for denying their own futility:
Ever tried.
Ever failed.
No matter.
Try again.
Fail again.
Fail better.
I’ve lost count of my rejections — from literary magazines to film grants, job applications to new client pitches. I’d consider myself a relatively successful person at this stage of life, despite not meeting many of my own unrealistic expectations. Even though I do get excited by prospects, even cautiously optimistic at times, it typically takes me less than a moment or two to process a new rejection before discarding it and moving on — sorry, but rejection wallpaper ain’t my aesthetic, even though I’ve certainly enough to cover my walls.
Baby it′s a ride and we don’t know the route
You can try to stand your ground but soon enough you′ll float up
Look down at yourself and see the whole commute
Only then you’ll know the path can you relax in the now?
And I’m gonna sing it all night
Don′t worry this life dry
Live through and let go of doubt
At the end nobody knows why
The problem with being on top is that it’s all too easy to forget what it feels like when you’re not. It’s been a tough stretch for most people across industries. It seems most of my talented friends are either unemployed, underemployed, or unhappily employed. Projects pay less, freelance projects take too long to pay, and the distance between meaningful opportunities has grown frustrating. To top it off, it’s been tougher to connect with, grow, and maintain community since the pandemic began four years ago. So this time can feel lonely, as if struggle is a burden only you carry.
Maybe all we know is the unknown for now
And I′m good to keep on guessing
Keep me restless, I′m calm
I get caught up sometimes
Who am I to tell you the way to live this life?
I’m just another human with eyes watching our time
Hum along and wondering why
And I′m gonna sing it all night
Don’t worry this life dry
Live through and let go of doubt
At the end nobody knows why
Artistically speaking, there’s a lot I’m excited about these days: film projects I’m developing, a few interesting leads, the fact that I’m a more prolific writer than I’ve been in years. But for the first time in many years, rejections are hitting a little harder. Lurking within every rejection is my lifelong imposter syndrome, jumping out from dark shadows to remind me that it is, in fact, still there ready to haunt and taunt.
My 13-year-old son has fallen in love with cooking, which also happens to be one of my biggest passions–during my last bout of professional frustration, I was one check away from enrolling in culinary school. Cooking, like art, is a series of failures — if you’re doing it right, and not following some bullshit recipe. The kid has this tendency to jump into something new with an expectation that he’ll be immediately great — guitar, violin, piano, soccer, and now cooking. If he burns the bread on a grilled cheese, he throws up his arms and yells, “I’m a horrible cook!”
These are the lessons we often don’t get when we’re younger, in school where we take tests with one right answer and several wrong answers. Our educational system doesn’t prepare us for a lifetime of failures, and instead uses the “F” in failure to stand for “this isn’t good enough, you aren’t good enough, you aren’t smart enough, you aren’t trying hard enough.”
As a result, our imposter syndromes feast off of failure and rejection. We’re written off, or write ourselves off, and move on to the next thing. What I tell the kid, what I try to tell myself in my dour moments, is to sit in that failure, to thank that failure for its wisdom, to get back in there and try it again, but just a little different this time.
It’s tough to keep on keeping on when seemingly everyone else is also struggling, when you’re competing with your talented friends to climb your way back to the top, when it feels like you’ve applied to every job, pitched every idea, written every grant. If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that the opportunity that changes everything is right there on the other side of the failure that almost breaks you.
Baby it’s a ride and we don′t know the route
You can try to stand your ground but soon enough you’ll float up
