Failing Often Means I Keep Trying

So, some of you may know I was thinking about taking up crochet or knitting.

Something to do with my hands while watching TV that is more productive and less caloric than feeding my face with salty snacks.

Plus, pretty blankets.

crochet vs knit

Well, 17,000 hours of watching YouTube videos later, and lots of salty snacks along the way…

I have officially failed at both.

Really, I gave it lots of effort.

Even sought real life advice from experts.

fail 2

But it’s something to do with my lack of manual dexterity.

An inability to tension the yarn.

Who knew it would be that hard?

Not me.

tension yarn

So what did I do?

I researched aids to help tension the yarn.

I discovered 5 different aids and tried them all.

Didn’t help.

fail 1

Now, I’ve always kind of known I’m a klutz.

Never could jump rope without getting tangled up.

I trip over invisible bumps in the sidewalk.

If there’s even one bit of ice, my foot finds it–and boom–down I go.

fail 3

But I refuse to give up all hope.

Stubborn that way.

Or maybe stupid.

Or determined.

Oftentimes, I can’t tell the difference and just keep plodding on.

And that’s a kind of success too.

fail 4

So, I’m coming for you afghan loom.

Who can’t twist yarn around a little peg, right?

Gonna find out.

afghan

I’ll check back in with you guys with or without afghan.

Let you see the results of this next try / fail opportunity.

Wish me luck! Please. I’m gonna need it.

Ideal many life failures thomas edison Google Search

 

 

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The Road Paved With Rejection

Rejection never gets easier. Not for me. I know rejection is the more likely outcome whenever I submit a completed poem or fiction piece or essay.

If for no other reason, than because of the sheer quantity of writing being submitted everywhere. Publications have limited space and unlimited selection. It’s a numbers game.

Rejection Just Ahead Green Road Sign with Dramatic Storm Clouds and Sky.

But when rejection comes, it always feels personal. Even though I understand from a rational standpoint that it isn’t. I feel like I am being told I suck. I don’t matterNothing I do matters. I am the worst writer in the world. Maybe the universe.

As an editor myself who has to parcel out rejection–something that hurts as much as receiving it–I know rejection is about the taste of the people choosing. And their mileage may vary from my own.

Rejection is subjective. Taste is individual. Not absolute.

Editors’ differing aesthetics, their biases, having to read the thousandth dead grandmother poem that month. And their grandmother is in the hospital. And she may not live. Or maybe that editor just discovered their father cheated on their mother with a person who has the same unusual first name as me.

Whatever the reason, rejection still hurts. And for me, it’s a physical pain as well. A blow to the chest, making it hard to breathe. Which makes sense according to MRI research. Rejection lights up the same areas in the brain as physical injury. There’s a great article on the TED site by psychologist Guy Winch that talks about this: Why rejection hurts so much

guy_winch_ted_dawn_kim_rejection_120615

The good news is, once I catch my breath, I’m ready to try submitting again. Mostly because of the voice in my head. Thankfully, that voice belongs not to me, but to my very first poetry mentor, Ottone “Ricky” Riccio, who taught at the Boston Center For Adult Education for several dozen years.

Ricky said, “Don’t call yourself a poet until you’ve received a thousand rejections.” What he really meant was that success at submitting doesn’t make you worthy. Passion for writing makes you a poet. And if you have enough passion that you’ve submitted a thousand or more times, you’ve got what it takes.

By these guidelines, I can call myself a poet many times over. Thousands of rejections.

Ricky didn’t place much value in the hierarchies of literary publishing. He encouraged sharing your work, but getting it out into the world any way you could. He suggested students take a handful of magnets and post poems on the refrigerators in the appliance section at Sears.

Ricky was an early proponent of self-publishing. Way before print-on-demand came into being. Many of his photocopied, hand-stapled collections stand among my all-time favorite poetry collections.

dealing with rejection

In my heart, I know sharing work matters. During my childhood, growing up in harrowing conditions, poetry saved my life. It still does. Every day.

As a child, I saw how people who’d suffered loss, and tragedy, and all kind of hurt, wrote about their experiences in poems. Across distance, time, gender, culture, these folks spoke directly to my wounds. They lived to write about what they’d been through–a testimony to survival, and likely, even thriving.

I’ve come to believe that our words reach those who need them most. However that happens–whether publication in a literary journal, or in the community newsletter, or posting online.

Poetry is my spiritual practice. Getting work into the world is a necessary part of that practice. Rejection is a piece of it as well. And the hurt. So I rest, take some deep breaths, and keep on. I hope you will too.

heart road

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