The when life gives you.. kind. I got 'em.
I knew I would get rejected from some, if not most, of the graduate schools that I applied to, but that doesn't make the rejection sting any less. Especially when it comes from an e-mail that, with no prior warning just appears in my inbox: "Dear, [insert applicant's name here], We thank you for your interest in our Master of Fine Arts Program in Creative Writing. We received many excellent applications this term for a few competitive spots and unfortunately we cannot offer you admission into our program at this time."
It's feels like getting dumped by a robot. Sometimes, my mind will wander and I will start to dwell on the really real possibility that I could be rejected by every school. Eleven digital no-thank-yous. I joke to Daniel that if that ends up happening that I would still want to move away, back to Nashville or something, just to escape the embarrassment of explaining why I never left for graduate school. I know it would be a bad choice, made out of pride and shame, since the people who inspired me to apply in the first place and who encouraged my work are here. And they'll still be here and I will still be me, where ever I go. I will still probably not write enough and take a desk job and dream about working in a writer's room and creating characters who are so wrong and so exceptional at the same time.
The lemonade of the whole situation is that while I feel really beat down by these decisions, I simultaneously feel motivated. The more I hear no, the more I want to work and improve. A part of me will crumble if it turns out that I'm not a good fit at any of the schools that I've applied to, but I think and hope that a part of me will rise from it. Like, maybe I didn't work hard enough before, but the end is far from me. Maybe this is a sign that I don't belong in the world of book-writing and journal-submitting and small publishing. It could be a sign that I'm just knocking on the wrong door with this whole graduate school school thing, but I still can't shake the fact that I've worked so hard on these applications and spent a large amount of money from my savings account. I can't add: "Work was rejected by eleven perfectly good graduate schools" to my CV. It still happened.
It only takes one yes to make me a masters candidate, which is sort of maddening, but the most positive thing that I can meditate on these days. One yes in the pack. One person on one panel who thinks my stories and talents are worth fooling around with.
I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here.
I am, I am, I am