The First Rejection

When I was in my twenties, I dated a young woman for a year, who, on our first date, mentioned that all her previous boyfriends overlapped. She would always begin dating the next while she was still seeing the current. What an interesting coincidence, I thought. I remembered that first date when some overlapping began happening with us. This didn’t spell the immediate end our relationship, though she was bothered that I wasn’t jealous that some men were expressing interest in her and she was tempted to reciprocate. If I loved her, she said, I would be jealous.

I didn’t like the idea of her fooling around with someone else, but I didn’t think this said anything about me. I didn’t think this meant the other men were better looking or more interesting than me, I just thought our relationship had some problems and this was how she was choosing to deal with it. This did not satisfy her, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m simply not a jealous person,” I explained. I didn’t understand this about myself until then.

Then, several years later, I found myself writing novels and waiting tables. I couldn’t help noticing other people’s lives, the people I waited on and the people whose books were reviewed in the New York Times or were being turned into movies. I wanted their houses and cars and book contracts; I wanted to be interviewed and written about and admired. I envied and was jealous of them, fearing that our different circumstances were a reflection of some strength in them and some flaw in me.

I’d come to learn that my instincts with my girlfriend were spot on. Jealousy makes for many miserable hours. It was absolutely true that there were things in my life I wanted to change, but comparing my circumstance to others didn’t seem to help. Just the opposite really. A writer requires acceptance, and jealousy is our first rejection. I turn myself into a story I wouldn’t want to read, someone who isn’t interesting or cool or good enough.

After all, I didn’t actually want to have written anyone else’s books; I just wanted the success those other books were enjoying. What’s more, I was married by then, and happily so. I didn’t want these strangers’ marriages, nor their friendships, nor their parents or siblings or children; I didn’t want their addictions either, their midnight fears, their prejudices or tastes. It’s strange to learn that to get what you want, you must to accept what you have. Everything grows out of what already exists, after all, as a story from an idea, as one sentence from the last.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com