As an artist, there's nothing quite like being rejected, repeatedly. And for some reason, certain rejections hurt more than others. I received what I felt was a crushing blow yesterday. Tears were shed, Advil taken, cocktails had. On the plus side, I've got some projects lined up, some things "in the hopper", as they say, so it's not a total travesty.
The Universe seemed to be on my side, ready with timely "coincidental" readings and information that crossed my path at just the right time, reminding me that perhaps it wasn't meant to be because there are even greater things waiting in the wings, and I shouldn't worry about "how" my career as a successful playwright will come about, as long as I do my bit every day, take those baby steps, follow leads, write.
I had to calm my ego down that so eagerly wants to prove itself and "be somebody" not realizing I already am somebody and have nothing to prove. Of course, that's easier said than done considering the entirety of Western society is based on competition.
It's not necessarily who can be the best, but who can be the loudest, flashiest and most popular. Truly trying to be the best at what you do, becoming a master of something is, in my opinion, a quiet art. It requires discipline, patience, perseverance and the knowledge that it may take a lifetime, and that the journey is, in fact, the destination.
I was comforted by the fact that I really could let go of worrying how to make things happen and just focus on a general end result, i.e. having a creatively fulfilling career, working with incredibly talented people, etc... instead of getting attached to specifics. My little brain can't possibly fathom the infinite possibilities the Universe has at its disposal to make my wishes manifest.
And so, I attempt to trust the unseen and assuage my bruised ego.