The Hidden Power of Rejection: How Embracing ‘No’ Can Transform Your Life

It can debilitate… motivate… and take a long time to truly grasp its meaning.

Some time back, I posted some reflections on this reader question: How insane is it for a 46 year-old to try to start a Hollywood writing career? It generated quite a bit of interest online and in comments.

One response was from Tim Plaehn which begins with this:

I received my rejection for the Orb Media Group China-Hollywood Screenwriting Fellowship sometime in the night. I woke up, went to the bathroom, and read in front of the mirror the gentle, supportive, even encouraging let down. I kind of knew I hadn’t won last week, but I appreciated the certainty: I had been rejected.

I gauged my disappointment in the mirror and then started the shower. It was time to move on, time to begin my day.

I don’t, however, process rejection so easily — even though I like to imagine I am one who can wash disappointment off me with some sort of invigorating and manly soap and watch it swirl down the drain. In truth, I’d go back to reread that email many times in the day. I went back to attend to the body of the email to poke and prod, examining it for any and all meanings, apparent or otherwise. In a brutal little twist, I attended a writing workshop all day long — the most significant rejection of my screenwriting career tucked into my back pocket as I read published writers and reflected on all they do so well. What facility with language they have!

“We are keen to continue a creative dialogue with you,” said the email.

Awesome! I’m keen as well! I mean really, I was keen back before it was cool, so this dialogue should be kick-ass.

The email went on, for they were impressed with “the wonderful potential that [I] showed.”

Yes? Don’t stop!! What kind of potential? “Wonderful,” you say? You, me, and my mother are all on the exact same page! This is all good. A positive email filled with all sorts of positive signs.

But then I remember Suzanne Sullivan, dancing with me late at night at The Bell Buoy. It must’ve been twenty-five years ago now. She’s smiling and laughing: “You’re so funny!” And I remember thinking, I should kiss her right now. And in this remembrance, a wave of dejection comes over me . . .