When to Give Up

I got a rejection today that made me feel awful. In this shithole of a time, when people are being kidnapped on the street in broad daylight, when they’re being sent to literal concentration camps due to “administrative errors,” when so much unnecessary suffering is still, to this day, being inflicted on humans by other humans for absolutely no reason at all other than to coddle the stupid, shitty, fragile egos of power hungry men, my own bruised ego and raw feelings about a rejection I brought on myself seem trite.

I’ve been trying so hard to get my book into the world. I’ve worked really hard on it. I’ve poured all of my being into it. I’ve been doing the work as best I know how, trying to be my own advocate for my own dreams and artistic integrity. Two weeks ago, I got a breadcrumb of hope. A request, from an agent, for the full manuscript.

This request felt hopeful because it was unexpected. I’d queried the agent on a whim after receiving another rejection from a different agent who’d requested the full, and after hitting send on my query, I expected it to disappear into the ether, unanswered, where most unsolicited queries to agents seem to wander. So when he emailed me back, with interest, I thought, Oh man. Is this it?? Is this my one “yes”?

Of course, it was another no. Another “Unfortunately blah blah blah.” It was super kind, and all things considered, pretty encouraging. But of course, in my disappointment, all I saw was the failed opportunity. The almost, but not quite good enoughness of my manuscript. The end of my dreams.

All day long, I’ve been asking myself. Should I just give this up?

I mean, everything is awful right now. Everything is exhausting. Our future is being held hostage by madmen, and people are just generally being assholes to each other because nobody has learned anything in all of human history, I guess, so who cares that anyone has a story to tell unless it makes a lot of people a lot of money very quickly? Right?

And maybe I’m just not good enough.

I’m a firm believer in quitting things that no longer serve, like classes, lessons, hobbies, dreams. The work is worth it until the work makes you miserable. It’s a hard line to tow. As a music teacher, I’m constantly trying to figure out when to push, when to pull, when to encourage grit and when to encourage letting go.

These days, it’s hard not to want to just give up and let everything go.

All day, I’ve been asking myself. What would it feel like to give up? Is it even worth it to keep fighting?

When it comes to writing, the “fight” is easy. Keep writing. Keep pitching. Keep querying. Keep getting rejected until you get a yes. It’s a clear cut struggle with relatively low stakes, aside from feeling shitty every

time I get a no. I know, in my bones, that I don’t actually want to give up, that the thought of a yes, and what that would mean to me, is a fire that fuels me. I know that I can keep throwing out breadcrumbs of hope by querying or writing, whenever I want, however I want, and one day, maybe I’ll get that yes.

This other fight, though? It feels vague and unsettling, like a snake hiding in tall grass. What would it feel like to give that up?

I keep falling into little pits of despair because I’m human and it’s hard not to feel helpless watching all the ways people are suffering. I don’t know how to stop it from happening. I want to hide in a hole and wait ‘til it’s safe because I’m just starting to feel safe in myself.

I also know in my bones that no, I don’t actually want to hide in a hole. Because the thought of something better than this shithole of a hellscape is a fire that also fuels me, and maybe if we just keep doing the work, throwing out whatever breadcrumbs of hope we can, however we can, as best we can, maybe someday, somehow, we’ll get the world we want.