Ah Rejection, my old friend

Pursuing acting is synonymous with pursuing rejection. This first cannot exist without the other. The very beginnings of my acting career were accompanied by rejections that felt incredibly personal and almost crippling. But you move forward.  Call it delusion, but every actor finds some way to believe that they are still meant for this line of work, that the right part will still find them, that the rejection is only a minor setback meant to be followed by a glorious acceptance. 




My acting experience has had very few acceptances and endless rejections. I’ve gotten a lot better at handling the rejection. I got to a point where I never even expected acceptance; I always just assumed that it would not work out – then I could be pleasantly surprised when it did. You can take rejection personally or you can choose to make it impersonal. You can choose to think something like, “Oh, they must have not wanted someone with my hair color,” or “I bet it was actually already cast before I walked into the audition room,” etc., etc. It’s healthier to make it impersonal, though my brain always wants it to be personal. 




The acting world is not the only world in which you can be rejected. There’s the job market, relationships, anything that requires an application, or anything that requires you to put yourself out there. Just like there are two ways you can choose to take rejection (personal or impersonal), there are two types of rejection. One in which you are given feedback, and one in which you are not. My experience seems to be 90% the latter. The first one is actually really great because then you’re forced to accept the reality check. I remember one of my bigger rejections in college theatre was due – almost solely – to the fact that the voice faculty did not like my singing voice. While it wasn’t fun to hear, it was acceptable. I could understand why they didn’t like it; I mean they weren’t alone. I could take that and work around it, work on it, work through it. See the second type is actually much harder because then your imagination gets to fill in why it wouldn’t work. 




They say when we are jealous of a person, we tend to take the few things we know about them and then fill in the rest of their lives with all of the things that would make us the most jealous of them. If I see a girl that looks super amazing in a dress, I can pretty quickly assume that she has a lot of friends who treasure her, an impressive job, an intelligent & hot & devoted boyfriend, and she probably volunteers on the weekends. I customize her life to all of the things that would bother me the most. I have a tendency to do the same thing with rejection. If not given a reason, I often fill in the blank with all of the most crippling reasons why this person or situation couldn’t bear to accept me. Dare I say, I put more thought into it than the person who rejected me. I care more. 




I think the most progress I made with this internal challenge occurred when I chose to trust the universe. I didn’t dwell on the rejection too long. I trusted that this one didn’t work out because something better was coming along. I trusted that this one didn’t work out, because maybe there was a different person that needed it more than I did. One day I would be that person; it would work out. 




Lately, it’s felt like I’ve been rejected by life itself. As if the universe took a look at me, saw all that I had to offer, and said “mmmm, yeah no. I’m sorry that’s just not going to cut it. See we’re looking for someone who, you know, gets it? You just seem a little lost and we can’t really work with lost. Look at that girl over there – see she may not be perfect, but she at least knows her worth and knows what she’s doing. That’s what we’re looking for.” 




When you feel rejected by the universe, it’s a little harder to trust the universe. All of a sudden you’re reminded of all of the things in your life that have never worked out. Yes, your life has been short, but it is also all that you can perceive. Why trust? Why keep believing in something that seems so intent in pushing you down in the most personal and debilitating ways? 




I find it curious that in some instances, I prefer to refer to divine power as “the universe” and in other instances, I feel safe referring to “God.” I’ve noticed when things are bad, I want to say the universe. I think it’s a subconscious effort to protect my relationship with God. I don’t want to be ungrateful, and I don’t want to be angry with Him, so I just decide to say it’s the universe. 




This practice may protect me in some ways, but it also allows me to believe a far more negative view of divine power than my actual beliefs would ever accept. That dialogue I wrote above about how the universe views my offering – never in a million years would I believe that God would say that to me. It is outside the capacity of a being known to be synonymous with love. 




So whose voice is actually saying that? If it’s not God, and it’s not the universe (who is God), I’m left to believe that it’s me. I look at my life and reject my offering. I look at myself and am embarrassed and disappointed with my lack of ability to pull it together. I suppose the devil could also be involved with that internal dialogue. He’s pretty good at twisting the truth in just the right way.




Things have been bad. I can say that. I have been dealt a hand full of rejections and crippling circumstances. I can say that and still see all of the ways I have been so incredibly blessed. I can say that and still find lots of reasons to laugh and smile. I can say that and still have the desire to believe that one day the hand will be a little bit better. 




When things are tough, my little brother often says (somewhat tongue in cheek), “God gives His toughest battles to His strongest warriors.” Why don’t I take that narrative and run with it? Why don’t I take each continual setback as evidence that God thinks I can handle it? He thinks I can take these things and still choose to be kind, still choose to turn outward, still choose to have faith. Thinking this requires a lot more active course corrections of my quickly forming thought-paths. It’s harder and easier at the same time. Most importantly, it's enabling; it's choosing love over fear. 










Well I think I just processed a lot. I love how therapeutic writing can be. 




Til next time. 




xo




Rebecca