Rejection*

I applied to become a fellow at a residency program for artists. The application process was thorough. They wanted examples of past work, and a detailed proposal for what I would do with their resources. 

I was rejected. 

I think it bothers me more than it should. I knew it was a long shot. They told me they receive 2000+ applications each year, for 50 spots. I don't have a real artistic background, and I've never made anything anyone would actually care about. 

An artist friend told me that rejection is part of the job. That I should aim for 100 rejections a year. I appreciate the sentiment, but it still stings. What stings the most is that I don't actually think I was wrong to apply. It felt right. A little crazy, a little inspired. 

I want to be moved by life. I want to take risks and feel the consequences. 

I read about an author who wallpapered their bathroom with rejection letters. I don't know if this is supposed to be inspiring or depressing. I know it's part of the process. 

When things go wrong, I remind myself that there is another me out there in the multiverse who made it. Who got through. And that will have to do for now. 

*future me