Boldly reaching for the blue (Archived)
As writers or creative types we press our hearts and souls into our work, timidly offering pieces of ourselves to a harsh and critical world. For the vast majority of us, this is a crushing and thankless journey that skims the high of hope as we send our work out there to the crushing disappointment of yet another rejection.
There are reams of sites, blogs and resources out there encouraging us to keep going, despite the sharp slap of a rejection. Some pieces need to cycle between all the wrong places before they land in the right place. We need to constantly hone and adapt and evolve our pieces. Improvement comes through the grind of rejections, as our piece catch against the rough edges of feedback and advice and smooth into a better form.
How we manage the disappointment of a rejection is personal to each one of us. If we plan to be professionals in any creative space, rejections, negative feedback and things that don’t quite fit will form an integral part of the landscape we trek across.
When I feel defeated and disappointed, gardening and nature is something I retreat to. My balcony is dense with different types of ferns. Ferns create tiny, dense little worlds. It’s only as you peer really close that you see the complexity and perfection of it. Even in my darkest hours, those ferns still hum with life energy. They cluster and bristle and shoot forth fronds that eagerly unfurl. There is so much life energy in those tiny packages.
If you wander through a forest you’ll find ferns in all sorts of interesting places — growing out of other plants, sprouting along rotting logs, dangling from cracks in a boulder. Even in our urban jungle I’ll spot ferns growing between bricks, conquering the vertical landscape of a wall or feathering from the gutters of a building.
If only there was a way for us to harness that life energy, that violent push of green that hums from every seed, from the energy pack of every plant. That urgent push into the soil, that bold reach for the blue.
When rejection knocks the wind out of my sails, I like to wander into my garden and peer into the depths of some of my plants. Plants don’t ask permission to be. They don’t rely on positive feedback or success to unfurl their fronds or extend themselves this way or that. They chase the sunlight, they position themselves just so. They do not cringe and stall and beg the sunlight to bless them.
Imagine if we could be like the tenacious, vibrant ferns and weeds of our world? Imagine if we had that violent push of energy that exploded us sideways and through and around and up and over. Imagine if we had the same drive to claim the space we were in?
How could we go about mirroring this energy? How can we channel it through our habits, routines, self-talk and strategies?
(Posted 2 Feb 2020. Follow me at: https://nicolewalshauthor.com/)