The phone rings. The letter arrives. You get that text you’ve been waiting for. You finally receive the news. But wait a second – it’s not what you wanted to hear. BAM. Your spirit is deflated in the same amount of time it takes you to realize – that not only is life full of struggle and unwavering shit that seems to only hit your fan – well, it’s just plain unfair.
If only there were a courtesy warning light to flash on our emotional dashboard, alerting us to bad news. But let’s face it – we’d ignore it – even if it did exist. There’s so much power in wanting to succeed, that even when we know it’s not the right time, or the elements of our vision just aren’t quite aligned, we close our eyes and get lost in the beautiful tapestry of our dreams. And why wouldn’t we (it’s much more pleasant there; not a shit-covered fan in sight, and the lighting is fabulous).
There’s nothing wrong with dreaming. It’s free. It’s fun. And for those of us who were born without a financial horseshoe in our crib, it propels our motivation to strive for a more stable, monetarily-stress-free life (not that wealthy peeps don’t have their share of issues). But we get into trouble when our dreams trump reality – believing that once we create our imaginary vision board (or a real one, if that’s your thing), it’s enough. We figured out what we want and where we want to go, and that’s it. If this were remotely true, I’d tell you to look for my toned and flawless ass on the cover of Fit Magazine – I mean, I pay the monthly gym membership (you saying I actually have to go?).
There’s nothing that satisfies our sustainability of following our passions like doing everything possible to avoid doing the actual work. Or maybe that’s just me.
I’m no stranger to bad news, but there was something so intrinsic about the longing for this game-changing answer I’ve been waiting to hear (I sent sample chapters to a publisher who expressed interest).
I read the email. My heart sank. But then something cool went down. I read the email again, and instead of bitching about being deflated, I shook myself out from the clouds and realized – it’s just not the right time, place, person, whatever. There was as much positive as there was buzz-kill in that email. So, I’ll keep working – dreaming – and working even harder. But not before doing what every self-respecting ex-stripper, drug addict, narcissist would do: I Googled myself. In a much-needed stroke of my overly sensitive ego, I read my reviews, watched my videos (essay reading, not stripping, there was no You Tube back in my day, pervs), and settled into moving forward.
Then I came across this gem of a video and was reminded of one helluva valuable lesson: one “no”, does not define who we are, but rather, makes for a way cooler story when we finally get our “yes.”