Rejection

Rejection. It's a hard feeling to swallow, whether it is perceived or real, external or internal. It is a feeling that, if expressed verbally by its host, would say something like, "You aren't good enough" or "You didn't say the right thing" or "You aren't trying hard enough" or "I prefer someone else over you." Not everyone has the guts to reject someone outright; many times they use more discreet mediums to deliver the rejection, such as silence, deliberately leaving you out of a conversation being held in your presence, deciding at the last minute to outsource your project to another company instead of allowing you to do it, promoting your co-worker to manager when he/she has worked for a lesser time at the company than you, giving your co-worker free vacation time for doing a great job - and giving you nothing for your great job; an interviewer who escorts you out only seven minutes into the interview, a friend who won't give a straight answer about wanting to visit you this summer, men who intermittently express interest only to be pulled back by.... ? who knows?, and family members who don't understand you in the way that you long to be understood.

These have all happened to me, both in the past and recently. Of course these incidents are nothing too serious, and there are plenty more situations that I did not list, but when situations like this tend to repeat themselves, over time the mind becomes weak from trying to ward off the bad as it tries to keep itself healthy and balanced. Inevitably, the thoughts and feelings make a connection and if the thoughts are leaning more towards rejection, the feelings follow, and the thick, black smoke of rejection begins seeping in through the cracks.

I think about how my nieces and nephews will grow up and begin experiencing rejection, if they haven't already, and it makes me sad when I picture them feeling that sting of hurt in their little hearts for the first time. What a shock it must be to step out of the warm environment of nurture and love from your family and parents, and into a world of people who are hurtful and unfair, and never see it coming. I remember going to kindergarten and hearing comments being made about my glasses. I had never given my glasses a second thought until I went to school, but all of a sudden I was made aware that the lines (bifocals) running through my glasses were ugly and extremely noticeable by everybody. From then on, I always wondered if kids would continue rejecting me because of them.

And every year when summer comes, I have to listen to comments being made about how "white" I am because my skin can't tan. It sounds funny, but it hurts and I feel rejected every time I hear it. I have felt that way my whole life. To me it is someone saying, "You won't look pretty until you get a tan."

How often do you wonder if you will be "accepted" when getting ready to go into a new situation in your life? And how often do you feel "rejected" once you are there? I hope for your sake that your history is more positive than mine!

The Power of Thinking

During this past week, I watched a movie called "The Secret." I found it to be a bit strange - a bunch of philosophers and quantitative physicists discussing the "law of attraction," and how utilizing it can bring happiness and wealth into your own life. I dismissed the parts that I thought were indicating that humans possess God-like powers, but I did connect with one idea that they continually mentioned throughout the movie.

It was the power of thought. Your thoughts can quite easily ruin or improve your day. You can feel like everyone hates you or everyone is in love with you, based on whatever you believe to be true. Your thoughts affect your feelings, and whether or not something you are thinking about is actually true, your feelings will begin reflecting those thoughts. Your feelings don't know what is true and what isn't; they change as a result of what your thoughts are saying.

Not long ago, I constantly felt depressed and humiliated every day I came into work because I thought that my supervisor was always angry with me and did not like me. I didn't know for sure if this was true, but I kept thinking that it was and so my feelings followed. I felt like it was true.

This sequence can happen so fast that we don't even stop to realize if what we are thinking is even valid or makes sense. At one point, I even thought that each time my supervisor and boss met privately in his office, it was because they were talking about me and deciding whether or not to fire me. It made no sense but I felt the anxiety and fear all of the time. I never stopped to challenge that thought to the point of realizing that it was ridiculous. (I'm still employed, by the way).

The movie also discussed the process of visualization, which I enjoyed learning about. They were saying if you really want to achieve something, picture yourself doing it - really focus on it. When you do that, you experience that same sequence of thoughts + feelings, and you begin to feel like you are really doing it. Like I mentioned above, your feelings respond to what is going on in your thoughts and they don't know what is truth or fiction.

So I visualized myself at my ideal weight and wearing the clothes that I used to wear, and it felt wonderful. I pictured myself traveling through Taiwan and not feeling embarrassed to wear my bathing suit into the hot springs. Immediately, I began to feel excited and confident. So I continued. I thought about what kind of job I would like to have; things I could do with my hair; places I'd love to travel to; conversations I would have; the laughter, the aromas, the turns and stares.

This process is supposed to help you stay in tune with your goals, continuously working towards them and making you want success on a heart level. I found this to be psychologically fascinating, and I am hoping to use this technique to my full advantage.

Excerpt #1: 12/18/95

An excerpt from my 15th year of life. I had fallen madly in love with the Brazilian foreign exchange student that had a locker across the hall from me. He had an olive complexion with dark eyes, dark eyebrows, a perfectly-shaped mouth, and a lovely ponytail that held some pretty thick, curly, black hair back from his shoulders (I suppose my interest in Latin American men stems further back than I'd originally thought...). I'm over the long-hair-thing now, by the way.

".... I'm nearly in love with him. He is so hot. I analyze his every move, trying to find out something about his personality and how he is. I want to talk to him now that my stupid braces are off. I don't want him to think I'm a total senseless dork. His hair turns me on so much. What the hell is it with me and long hair? I love it so damn much! It is SOOOO sexy! If I approach him in the morning when I have just put my make-up and perfume on, he's bound to like me....."

"... Come to think of it, if he was giving me some of that weird eye contact before, he shouldn't have a problem with lending me a pen or pencil. I always chicken out from talking to him when I see him. That would be cool if he were secretly in love with me, and when I finally did talk to him he grabs me without warning and starts frenching me. But then my retainer would get in the way!"

I wonder what ever happened to that kid. I remember that later on, I did work up the nerve to ask him to the Homecoming dance (in a handwritten letter, delivered one second before scurrying away to class, of course), but he didn't seem to be interested. Maybe he works at a guesthouse down in Rio someplace, regretting that he never gave that toothy, bubbly American girl a chance back in 1995. Or maybe he couldn't read any English and still wonders to this day what the hell was written in that crinkly, sweaty note that was shoved into his hand against his will.

The 15:29 Train

I mean it when I say that being an adult is not much fun, and that most days I'd rather be 15 years old again, even though at 15 I didn't have a driver's license, had no source of income besides household chores that I rarely completed when I was supposed to, hung out with less than desirable individuals, still enjoyed getting high every so often, and had a strong urge to break free from the bounds of my parents and hometown as soon as possible. But at age 15, I was still writing, took piano lessons (though I did not practice often), went to the fair with my friends in the summer and followed boys around hoping they wouldn't notice (and hoping the cops would not realize I was too young to be smoking), shopped with my mom and drove her crazy trying to convince her that my clothes weren't too "skimpy," thought about what kind of tattoo I would like to get when I turned 18, and did up my hair and make-up perfectly for when we went out on the road during driver's training.

I daydreamed a lot at that age. I couldn't wait to turn 16; then it was 18; and finally, the big "21." I had visions and dreams of so much for my life. I would leave Imlay City and go to college - an enchanted land of individuals that didn't know anything about me; men - desirable men - as far as the eye could see; friends, parties, laughter, community; oh man, the list went on and on.

After turning 19, I began hating college but knew I had to finish somewhere and do something. I had gained weight, my friends had all but turned into alcoholics, the desirable men and I never crossed paths, I didn't know what I wanted to do with myself, and my parents and I still fought occasionally.

Fast forward to age 24. I had transferred to Concordia at age 20 - and was SURE things were going to turn around and all my dreams would finally come true; graduated with a degree in graphic design and faced the realization that I was not ever meant to experience any blissful "college boyfriend" romance that lived in my daydreams, had studied abroad in Mexico and stayed with a family that simply filed us through the semester like a herd of cattle (feed them and give them a place to lay, but don't talk much to them because they can't understand anyway), was still overweight, had to come home and live with my parents because I had no job prospects in WI or anywhere else and was being kicked out of the dorms the day after graduation, and so there I was.

I remember one day I was sitting in my old bedroom at home looking out the window, and it was completely quiet. I thought, It's like I just woke up from some weird dream where I met tons of people and sat through hours and hours of instruction that I will never remember. And here I am; back at the place I was trying to get away from.

Now at age 29, I am living on my own and supporting myself. I supported myself to the extent of having to work two jobs for the last two years, which ate up every weekend and occasional evenings during the week. The second job was embarrassing and frustrating, and I began forgetting about what I wanted from life; what I had dreamt of accomplishing, and the things I enjoyed doing in my spare time.

It was more than two months ago that I finally left the second job, and now I am trying to remember what it was that I loved so much about living; forgotten hobbies, the feeling of having a crush on someone, the joy of doing something new, the urge to do more and more and never feel completely satisfied; all of these things were fresh and real at age 15. It just seems like someone else's life from centuries ago, and when I read my old diaries from those years, it is incredible what my thought process was.

I might even go as far as sharing some of those diary entries with the readers of this blog, though I have never let anyone read them, ever. Maybe that will be something for my next post. I am still getting used to this blogging thing. It usually seems a little less natural when I am writing for an audience.