On Rejection and Heartbreak

I haven’t told very many people about this because it’s sort of painful. When I was in college at UCLA, I was way into this guy. He had these amazing green eyes and a great smile, and a laugh that was just flat-out sexy. He was smart and funny—a surfer who was also a geologist, a frat boy who actually wasn’t very fratty, if you know what I mean—and so when we went from friends to more than friends, I fell. Hard and fast.

Having been friends for almost a year prior, we were instantly in the zone as a couple. The time I spent with him was one thousand percent butterfly in the stomach-inducing, but at the same time, it felt natural. Quite honestly, it was amazing.

Then, after only a few weeks together, we had this conversation:

Him: So, I’ve been seeing *Anna while we’ve been together…

Me: Oh. You have?

Him: Yeah.

Me: You mean Anna, my friend? That Anna?

Him: Yeah. That Anna. And anyway, it’s time for me to make a choice. God, this is so hard to do.

Me: You’re not choosing me… Are you?

Him: No. I’m sorry. I really like you. I’m really afraid I’m going to regret this.

Me: (thinking: I hope to hell that you do.)

Him: I’m sorry… Are you mad?

Me: Not yet, but I’m definitely going to get there.

*Some names may have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

Anyway.  I’ll stop there.

That hurt. It actually still hurts a little bit even though a lot of time has passed, and, more importantly, since I’ve married the right guy—a guy who has always made me feel like I'm the center of his universe. A guy who would never, not in a million years, two-time anyone or behave in such a self-centered way in the midst of a breakup. Ahem. I digress.

So, for a while after that experience, I went around having these kinds of thoughts: Why is she better? Why wasn’t I enough for him? Where did I go wrong?

Now, I realize that it all worked out the way it should have. I realize that I definitely feel like enough to myself. I am enough to my husband and my parents and my friends. I think I’m more than enough to my kids. To the people who matter, I am enough. Surfer-geologist and I just weren’t a good fit. And thank goodness for that.

Why is this a harder position to take with respect to my novels? When I see an unfavorable review, why can’t I just say, “my book just wasn’t a good fit for that reader.”

The truth is that sometimes I can. Plenty of times. Having one book under my belt, it helps to know that while some readers might reject my ideas and my characters, there are many who like—and even love them. But sometimes there’s still that twinge. Those questions: Why wasn’t it enough? What could I have done better?

What I’ve been working on for about a year now, is trying to define my own success. I would love to get to the point where I create the parameters of whether I succeed or fail. As much as I crave accolades (just being honest, I do), my goal is to bring the focus to the work.

Did I write a great scene? A great character? A great story?

I want to be able to say, “I did good work today.”

I want to say that with unshakable conviction.

I want to feel enoughness in my writing, no matter what others say.

Scratch that. I want to feel like more than enough and only I can give myself that.

Like Surfer-Geologist years ago, I can make a choice. When it’s someone else’s opinion of my work versus my own, guess whose I’m going to choose?

Booyah. Take that one all the way to the beach.