Keep Your Head Down and Do the Work (Part III of III)
I open the email with the generalized title. I wish they’d tell me in the subject line.
I do the same thing every time: Scan for cue words. There’s a “thank you” but no “congratulations.” Bad sign.
By the time I read the words “record number of applicants” I know where this is going. I grip the phone. A lump grows in my throat. I scan past “cannot offer you” and turn my screen off and freeze. The next couple of hours are going to suck.
I’d written a different ending to this three-part post. I wasn’t expecting to get knocked on my ass, but frankly, dealing with rejection is part of the work, and it doesn’t get talked about enough. Neurodiverse people often experience hypersensitivity to rejection–it hits us the way an unexpected wave smacks an unsuspecting beachgoer, flinging him violently towards the shore, sending cold, salty water burning up his nose. Rejections seem to confirm toxic narratives we work to unlearn in therapy, calling to memory all of the shattering times we were either “too much” or “not enough.”
But I’ll say the quiet part out loud: I love my voice. That, at least, makes life easier; I imagine I would hate practicing if I didn’t enjoy hearing it. I can make rich, powerful sounds, but also creamy and sensual sounds, light and delicate sounds, deep, evocative sounds. I like my sounds. My voice is a deep and brilliant emerald, and I cut, polish, and set it in whatever light makes it sparkle the most.
The problem, of course, with emeralds, is that some people prefer rubies.
And GOD, it hurts. So much so that I find myself tempted to hide my emerald, or light it to obscure its green hue, or alter it to make it resemble something that someone else might want. But it’s no use. I can do so many things with my voice, but I cannot make an emerald a ruby. I’d only damage it trying.
Well, then, there’s only one thing to do: Put my head back down, and keep doing the work.
It’s different work now; not to say I’ll ever exactly be “done” building my technique, working at vocal excellence, but my work now is a lot more about getting my art in front of the eyes that connect to the hands that sign the paychecks. Unfortunately, sometimes those eyes have no use for an emerald–at least, not this season. Maybe next year. Fine. Another email. Another application. And if every application and email yields another PFO on an ever-growing list of failures, then they become points of data for refining my strategy, not evidence that I was never “good enough” to make it anyway. Because I am not the work–I’m the person that does it. And I get to keep doing it until I don’t feel like doing it anymore, then take a nap, then wake up to do it again, probably. Because I love it.
That’s its own reward.
Stay Honest, Stay You.
–Lucas