it holds us close

I was afraid of the dark when I was nine. I was convinced that if I touched my bedroom floor at night, then the thing living under my bed would snatch me from the world. Each night, I jumped from the threshold to my bed. 

Almost a half a century later, I have come to think of the dark as a trusted friend. Someone I can turn to for understanding when bad things happen.

I am a writer now. Rejection notices are part of the work. If you are not being rejected at least a couple times a week, then you are not working hard enough.  Back when the rejections were delivered by snail mail, I used to pin the paper notes on the wall above my typewriter. I figured each rejection put me one step closer to being discovered.

I have been working on a writing project for a few months. Last week, thanks to technology, the work hit inboxes everywhere. On Sunday, I received an email note of rejection followed by 222 more just like it. It was like a rejection-tsunami. Usually, they arrive one at a time and you manage them like any other bump in the road. Not this time.

I made a cup of tea and retreated to my writing space. I left the light off and the blinds open so I could feel the full dark of the night.  I opened each of the 223 emails and read them to myself with the dark. When I was finished, I did what anyone else would have done, I recalled every regret from my past, and every dashed hope for my future while wallowing in the disappointment of my present. 

I leaned into the rejections, cataloged the regrets, and waved goodbye to the hopes. It was painful. Cocooned by the dark of the room, and under the watchful eye of the night, I let the disappointment sink in deep. The dark did not flinch, it did not judge, it did not offer advice, it simply sat with me and listened. 

I knew that if I could accept the rejections, see each for what it was and was not, then I would be able to move forward. I needed to be honest with myself. I needed to express my fear. I needed to feel sad. I needed to share my doubts. I needed to touch the bottom. I needed to climb back to the surface and try again. I needed the dark to hold me close.

Later that night, I lay awake with the dark. I felt the day melt onto the floor, circle, then vanish into the hole I imagined beneath our bed. Feeling the full disappointment of the rejections freed me to let them go. The dark pulled them deep until there was nothing left to fear.

I fell asleep, grateful for dark’s compassion, and looking forward to stepping into the light of a new day.