Saturday, February 4, 2012

Never Give Up

My entire life I have been surrounded by what I consider ordinary things and events. I thought the people around me were what made my life extraordinary. I live my life and do my thing and that's just how it is. I'm not so naive to think that everyone lives their dreams like me, but sometimes I feel I live a small life. Clearly, I was wrong.
I was having a conversation with my friend in which she described me as brave and bold and she wished she could be like me. She called me a risk-taker. A go-getter. As I laughed and tried not to spew soda out my nose, I asked what the hell did she mean by that?
She wistfully sat down her drink and spoke with her hands as she is wont to do.
"You have traveled. You live in a different place than where you came from. You're a dancer and a singer. You inspire young people everyday. All that is brave. I could never do those things. Not in a million years."
"Yeah, but do you want to do those things?"
"Of course, I did. But what if I failed at it? What if I wasn't good enough? What would happen then?"
I thought for a minute. "You just go for it. Win some, lose some. You work for what you want."
"See? That's what I mean. Brave."
I blinked twice trying to absorb that the woman she sees and the one my mirror reflects are the same person.
Yes. I do all those things she says. I have traveled. A lot. I loved it.
I do live far from where I hale.
I was a professional dancer and singer and now I teach that trade at a performing arts school. I hope I am as inspiring as she says. I lead a group of Girl Scouts in my hippie footsteps trying to teach them to save the planet and be strong and independent all at once.
But now I'm a mom and a wife and lug around 30 more pounds than I would like to. I sit on Twitter far too long everyday and spend lots of time cooking (Since I am my grandmother's granddaughter and you know, just in case Bobby Flay calls for a throwdown.)
She took a drink and said "And you wrote a book. You're so creative. I could never do that."
I looked at her with round eyes as if she had suddenly sprouted a second and third head.
All the other stuff I could see her thinking of assets. I wanted it, I went for it, I did it.
But this thing...this last mention of accomplishments felt the furthest from that word it could be...instead, it feels like failure.
Yes. I wrote the book. I have written many books. I have edited, revised, cried, laughed, typed until cross-eyed, took critiques and did all that again and yet they still sit lonely in my computer. I wrote the dreaded query letter. Or letters I should say. I have submitted with a nervous and shaky hand.
Over and over and over.
I have felt that instant panic of 'what did I just leave out?' followed quickly by the complete and utter revulsion for everything I've just written and whooshed into cyberspace.
I have waited, with racing heart, until the emails came only to find the rejections waiting.
Each one telling you almost, but not for me and that if you just send it on to the next agent, they are sure it will fit them. It's as if every one of us trying to get a deal is pulling a slot machine lever. You pull, hear the ring, watch the wheels. One cherry. Two cherries. Then the third wheel stops half way between banana and cherry, you're so damn close you know if you pull it one more time...thus begins the cycle. It's vicious but it keeps you coming back for more.
So you keep at it. More rejections.
Each one encouraging. Each one telling me to keep at it. Each one telling me no.

I have felt that sting of pride where you think "Your loss, not mine." which of course is quickly replaced with the self doubt of "Clearly, I have no talent."
I, of course, brushed off my friend's statement with clever self-deprecation and a little laugh at my own expense, but it made me wonder...why do I do it? Were the other things I accomplished this hard? I don't know if they were or not. Maybe this isn't what I should be doing. It ate at me. I spent more time away from the computer and more time talking myself into the fact that it would never happen. I was ready to give up.

Fast forward to parent-teacher conference: I'm sitting across from my fifth grader's teacher, a lovely woman who adores my child. "I understand you wrote a book."
My mouth fell open. "Well...I ...um, yeah...I guess. I'm looking for an agent?" I thought to myself, why did that come out a question? I am...aren't I?
"Well, your son is very proud of you. When he scores well in writing he says he gets it from you."
My eyes grew wet with what would turn into tears as soon as I got into my car. I had no idea. I thought I had tried not to tell people so that if I failed, few would know. I thought my kids weren't paying attention to my triumphs of sending it out and the heartaches of the getting the big N-O. I thought I was alone in it. My family and my students support me of course, but say it out loud to someone.
"I wrote a book."
You either get a look of awe, (awkward) asked for your published title,(which of course you don't have) or the most common...the look of "Uh-huh. Sure you did." (In which case, you quickly blather like an idiot to defend your novel that only exists in your house and heart but nowhere else in the world) - And so you don't say it a lot. Or at least I didn't.
I'm a dancer for crying out loud!
But now I realize that is not what I should be worrying about. The failure is not the worst that could happen.
If I want this, and make no mistake, I truly do, then I have put myself out there. The succeeding isn't the part that matters, it's the risk of doing it at all. The guts to go for it is the part my kids and students are seeing and if I fail, it doesn't matter....IT WOULD ONLY MATTER IF I GAVE UP.
My friend was right after all. My risk taking inspires at least my son and that is plenty for me.

So with renewed vigor and a completely different attitude I go forth from here. George Clooney said that an audition was like betting with house money. You are selling you. You go in without the job, you leave without the job. The only thing that can change is that you get the job. I think that's how I'll play it from here on out in regards to getting an agent and a book deal.
I don't have it now, but I can try. I'm not losing anything since I only have something to gain.
And now thankfully I see, I'm not the only one.