This weekend my husband and I took a risk: We took our kids to a local farm after many months of avoiding the outdoors (due to my daughter’s extreme seizures).
A few minutes into our exploration of the farm grounds, my daughter began to have seizures triggered by the texture of a silo. We quickly intervened and redirected her attention to the goats, but she then became triggered by the texture of the gravel under our feet. At that point it became clear that we’d have to call it a day. Thankfully we had ice cream and a shaded stroller to help ease the transition, but it was still incredibly disappointing to cut the visit short.
I stewed the whole drive home. This incurable disease is so enraging, and it’s easy to focus on the things that didn’t happen this weekend: We didn’t get to see all of the animals, we didn’t get to explore the corn maze or ride the tractor, we didn’t get to take a picture of our kids with the “Look How Much I’ve Grown” sign. I could easily tally up these disappointments and recognize the trip as a failure.
But a little later, I realized this: A month ago, my daughter’s seizures were so debilitating and uncontrolled that we could barely leave the house for a doctor’s appointment let alone an outdoor activity.
I have power to rewrite this story. I can swat the disappointments away and focus instead on what did happen: we spent time together in the fresh air, we left the house for something other than a doctor’s appointment, and we drove in the car for more than an hour without any seizures.
Even though I wish we could’ve done more, I’m so thankful that we got to do anything. Because there were months and months of our lives where we sat in the dark and didn’t get to have any experiences like this.
We took a risk, and though it was a little disappointing there is a lot to be thankful for.
Putting creative work into the world (and getting the inevitable rejections) feels a lot like this.
You take a leap, get a no, and It’s. So. Disappointing. Before long, you’re questioning everything. Was my query letter too long? Was my pitch concise enough? Do people even want what I have to offer? Why am I even writing?
It’s so easy to let these thoughts spiral, but… Not today. Today I will rewrite this story of rejection and focus instead on what is going well: I took a risk and put myself out there. I got some feedback. I learned. I’m becoming better at this every single day. I’m one “no” closer to my “yes.”
So instead of wallowing (well, maybe after a little bit of wallowing), I’ll sit back down and finish up one of these picture book drafts that I’ve got going. I’ll revise. I’ll get critiques. And I’ll keep working toward the dreams.
Because someday, I hope, we will go to the farm without worrying about seizures.
And someday, I hope, my stories will find their readers.
Go to the farm. Send the query. Shoot your shot.
Don’t get derailed.