Surviving Disappointment
I was staying up late. I shouldn't have been. Eve hasn't reliably been sleeping through the night long enough to warrant such a late bed time. But I was excited. I was so sure I was going to make it to the short list for the Celebrate Color comp which I'd entered my drawstring play mat in. Finally I decided to wait till morning and with one last refresh on the laptop, I stood up to go to bed.
Wait! The results had been posted! I nervously and excitedly clicked on the link and started to read the list of names. I read it again just to make sure mine hadn't hidden from view the first time.
It hadn't.
My heart gave that kind of thud it often does when I've been met with disappointing or sad news.
And then I got that repetitive wave of feeling as I processed what had happened.
I had gotten a bit ahead of myself.
I had gotten my hopes up.
This creative thing is a risky business. It's so easy for me to set up each sale, each 'like', each comment or page view as a measure to tell me I'm ok, and each knock back or silence as a personal rejection.
And we avoid disappointment like a cancer in our culture. We are told not to get our hopes up. Not to count our chickens before they hatch. Not to get ahead of ourselves. To prepare for the worst.
Why? (Why bother living through the disappointment before you even know the outcome?)
The other night as I sat in front of the computer, I just let myself feel disappointed for a while. It was, after all, disappointing, and therefore felt like just the right feeling to let myself have.
And after a moment, a little voice inside me asked, "Do you like what you've made, Jodi?"
"Yes," I replied, "Very much."
"Even if it doesn't sell or win prizes?"
"Yes."
And then I felt like I could keep doing this a bit longer. Keep making things that are an expression of me and put them out there to be critiqued, judged, sold. And that I could hope people like them. And I could be disappointed with the outcome. And still be ok.
Because I feel like this whole thing is only going to work if it's a beautiful expression of me and not just one massive question mark, "Am I ok??"
And that way I can enjoy the beautiful expressions of other people, the ones that do get 'chosen' because they are wonderful too.
Wait! The results had been posted! I nervously and excitedly clicked on the link and started to read the list of names. I read it again just to make sure mine hadn't hidden from view the first time.
It hadn't.
My heart gave that kind of thud it often does when I've been met with disappointing or sad news.
And then I got that repetitive wave of feeling as I processed what had happened.
I had gotten a bit ahead of myself.
I had gotten my hopes up.
This creative thing is a risky business. It's so easy for me to set up each sale, each 'like', each comment or page view as a measure to tell me I'm ok, and each knock back or silence as a personal rejection.
And we avoid disappointment like a cancer in our culture. We are told not to get our hopes up. Not to count our chickens before they hatch. Not to get ahead of ourselves. To prepare for the worst.
Why? (Why bother living through the disappointment before you even know the outcome?)
The other night as I sat in front of the computer, I just let myself feel disappointed for a while. It was, after all, disappointing, and therefore felt like just the right feeling to let myself have.
And after a moment, a little voice inside me asked, "Do you like what you've made, Jodi?"
"Yes," I replied, "Very much."
"Even if it doesn't sell or win prizes?"
"Yes."
And then I felt like I could keep doing this a bit longer. Keep making things that are an expression of me and put them out there to be critiqued, judged, sold. And that I could hope people like them. And I could be disappointed with the outcome. And still be ok.
Because I feel like this whole thing is only going to work if it's a beautiful expression of me and not just one massive question mark, "Am I ok??"
And that way I can enjoy the beautiful expressions of other people, the ones that do get 'chosen' because they are wonderful too.