When Someone Writes a Terrible Review About Your Work
When Your Boss, Client, or Customer Is Totally Disappointed
When Bullies and Internet Goblins Are Ruining Your Life
When You Don’t Get the Job That You Wanted
MY BEST FRIEND GOT THE JOB—NOT ME.
Story contributed by: Ben Wendel.
Grammy Award-nominated musician. Composer. Producer.
A Note from Alexandra:
On a sticky-melty-hot summer day, I was driving past a Starbucks in Portland, Oregon. My phone flashed. Call from Ben Wendel. I pulled into the parking lot and miraculously found a spot. For the next hour or so, I sat in my car, furiously taking notes, while Ben told me how it felt to watch his best friend get the job that he wanted, and how that experience rattled his self-esteem to the core.
Ben would never say this himself, because he’s very humble, but I will tell you that he’s a musical genius who’s been nominated for a Grammy Award. He’s won about a million different prizes and grants. He’s been praised in The New York Times and lots of other publications. He plays numerous instruments. He’s immensely talented, hardworking, and respected by his peers. He’s performed with Snoop Dogg and The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, which is obviously the coolest thing ever.
In addition to being a world-renowned musician, composer, and producer, Ben also happens to be my older brother—and he’s one of my number one heroes. Ben has endured so much uncertainty, discouragement, and rejection in order to build a career as a full-time professional musician. He’s got serious grit.
I couldn’t imagine a better way to kick off this book than with a story from my big brother—the boy, then teenager, then man who taught me what it means to be a devoted, disciplined artist—and actually make a living doing what you love.
Without further ado…here is Ben’s story.
* * *
Ben: This one time, right after I graduated from college, my friend Shane and I both got invited to audition to tour with Ani DiFranco. She’s an incredible musician who has released more than twenty albums, and she’s considered one of the greatest folk-rock singers of her generation. My friend and I both came into the audition really prepared. We both sounded great. Then…Shane got the gig and I didn’t.
I remember getting the news over the phone. The tour manager called to let me know—and I felt completely crushed. It hit me in my core. I was happy for Shane—he was, and still is, one of my best friends—but I felt so disappointed. This would have been an incredible opportunity for me—touring the world, at age twenty-two, with a world-class artist like Ani. But they chose Shane and not me.
I remember thinking to myself, “Shane is so talented, so if they want him and not me, then maybe that means I’m not good enough to make it as a musician.” I felt so scared and ashamed.
The worst part was that later the same day I was scheduled to perform at a concert—right alongside Shane! I felt so anxious about that performance. I was happy for Shane, of course, but I didn’t want to see him, let alone perform next to him, especially not that same night. It was a real low point.
To help myself feel better, I decided to write out all of my feelings. After getting off the phone with the tour manager, I felt miserable, so I grabbed a beautiful handmade notebook that had been given to me as a birthday present (ironically, it was given to me by a woman named Kali—who later became Shane’s wife).
The notebook was completely blank. I turned to the first page and started to write about how I was feeling. I wrote for about forty-five minutes. I didn’t censor or edit myself. I didn’t worry about grammar. I just vomited everything out onto the page.
Some parts of what I wrote were really petty and jealous, other parts were gracious and generous, and other parts reflected the reality of life as a musician: that sometimes you give your best effort but still don’t get what you want.
By the time I was done writing, I felt so much clearer and calmer—like I had just purged all of these toxins out of my body.
That experience happened almost twenty years ago.
Today, at age forty, I have a very different perspective on criticism than I did at age twenty-two. Back then, not getting chosen for Ani’s tour felt like the end of the world. It felt like “I have no talent” and “I’m never going to succeed.” But now, when something doesn’t pan out the way I’d hoped, my attitude is “OK, so that project isn’t happening—cool. I wonder what’s going to happen instead.”
Because that’s how it works. When someone says “No” to you, that just means that some other opportunity is going to happen instead. Something equally great. Maybe even something better. You just never know.
For example, if I had gotten that job with Ani DiFranco’s tour back when I was twenty-two, then I might not have co-founded my jazz band, Kneebody. The irony is, because of Kneebody, I’ve gotten to tour around the world multiple times over and also received my first Grammy nomination with them. In the end, I got my wish. I got to tour with amazing musicians and see the world. Just because it didn’t happen with Ani didn’t mean that it wasn’t going to happen eventually. The best (and perhaps most ironic) part of all of this is my buddy Shane eventually joined Kneebody and has played alongside me all these years.
I’ve found that one of the best things to do when you’re feeling criticized is to remind yourself that every single artist in the history of mankind has gone through some version of what you’re going through, and has felt some version of what you’re feeling.
It can be helpful to read rejection letters that famous authors received to remind yourself that even Oscar Wilde and Nabokov and J.K. Rowling had their share of discouragement and disappointment. Or you can watch documentaries, listen to interviews, or read biographies about your personal heroes. Or read books like this one. Those types of stories will remind you that everyone has low points, everyone hears “No” sometimes, and it doesn’t mean you’re untalented—it’s just part of the journey of being an artist.