Rejection

Just rejected from an artist in residence program. Here are a few of the hateful responses to my work:
"shining credentials!  what an honor it would be to have her in the
program!"
"love this work"

What?

It is possible to be loved and still not chosen.

I can't lie. . .really, it's some brain wiring that makes me not able to lie. . .or at least not able to lie very well. So I can't lie, rejection sucks, but not as much as I expect it to before it happens. Fear of rejection drove me to do my stupider things when I was younger: fawn after people, not boys anymore, but not yet men, trying to convince them to love me. Then once I had the l'homme du jour (and hence no more fear of rejection) I'd have that Hallelujah moment, like when the blind suddenly can see, and realize my object of pursuit was a jerk and I'd dump him. And once again I was unscathed by rejection.

Now I don't chase love, but I dangle myself out there from time to time as a writer/artist/photographer. Fear of rejection still keeps me from being in perpetual launch mode, but I've also come to realize that being rejected won't kill me. Of course submitting creative work for review is a more detached experience than trying to be young and loved. Thank God. Here's how I court creative recognition: I find a perspective venue, create a submission, and send it on its merry way. It's how I imagine answering classifieds might be, without the bewildering acronyms. Then I try to pretend I didn't submit and go about my life. Then, I eventually get accepted, and it's like getting an e-gift from Amazon, or I get rejected, and it's more like a doctor office call back for abnormal lab results.

Today I got the call back, but I'll live, at home, all next summer, instead of in some other exotic place. Luckily, I like my home and I can still write and hold a camera. My hands didn't reject me.