The artist’s path is a brutal, humble, strange one. But we do it because we love it. And the low points can make you stronger.
I’ve read about monks in Tibet who pray for a life that includes suffering, because they know that true wisdom only comes through life’s challenges.
That kind of perspective can make the sting of rejection feel so much easier to bear—and can even make it feel like a beautiful gift.
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SURVIVAL TIP:
When you feel miserable because you didn’t get the job that you wanted, take a cue from Ben: vomit all of your feelings into a journal. Keep writing until you’ve poured out every drop of anger, shame, anxiety, and irritation that you possibly can. Get it all out. Try to get a good night’s sleep…and the next day? Move onward with your job search.
Remember that when someone says “No,” this isn’t the end of your career. It just means that now, you have a chance to create a different kind of opportunity for yourself. Something just as good as the job you didn’t get—or maybe even better.
Thank God They Didn’t Hire Me.
Ben just shared a story about that one time he really wanted to get hired for a worldwide tour with one of his favorite performers—but he didn’t get chosen. His best friend got the job instead, and he felt crushed. Pretty awful.
And yet…
In the end, not getting hired turned out to be a pretty great thing. Because Ben was “stuck at home”—instead of touring around the world—he decided to co-found a jazz band called Kneebody. That band is still going strong today. They even got nominated for a Grammy Award.
Would Ben still have started Kneebody if he’d gotten hired for that tour? Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows? It’s interesting to think about, isn’t it? Maybe not getting hired by Ani DiFranco was one of the best things to ever happen to Ben’s career.
Listening to Ben’s story, I found myself remembering a very similar story from my own life. Interestingly, my story also happened when I was in my early twenties, just like Ben. Here’s how it went down…
I was twenty-four years old and working at a major public broadcasting company in the Midwest. It was a job that many people envied. My boss was a powerful, influential man at the company—the head of the entire Broadcast Technology department. I was his assistant and right-hand gal.
My job was a grab-bag position that included all kinds of tasks. Managing my boss’s calendar. Keeping track of our department’s spending. Writing technical manuals and standard operating procedures. Working with the on-air talent to get fifteen- and thirty-second promotional spots recorded on time, and then working with the traffic department to make sure those spots got scheduled into the correct slots. And about a hundred other micro-tasks that needed to get completed every week.
My days were packed with writing assignments, project coordination, endless meetings, and avalanches of emails that all seemed to be marked “urgent.” It was fast-paced and high stress, but the benefits were significant. For starters, I had a very modest—but consistent—paycheck. I had good healthcare coverage. I got to be part of a company that was doing incredible work—producing world-class radio and podcast content that touched people’s lives. That was something to be proud of. And, as long as I worked hard and aced my annual performance review, I could rise through the ranks of the company. Who knows? One day, maybe I could even have my boss’s job.
On paper, my situation seemed like a dream job at a dream company. And I’m sure it was somebody’s dream job. But it wasn’t mine. The truth is…I was pretty miserable.
I was young and scared about being unemployed, so I buried my feelings and repeatedly told myself, “I love my job, I love my job. It’s winter, it’s really cold and dark, that’s the only reason why I’m feeling sort of depressed right now. Things will get better once it’s spring. I just need to hang in there.”
That’s what I told myself…but it just wasn’t true.
The truth, which I was terrified to admit to myself, is that I was gradually beginning to realize that I didn’t want a nine-to-five job. I didn’t want to work in cubicle, then a small office, then a bigger office with a window facing the parking lot. I didn’t want to climb up the ladder for the next forty years and then retire. I didn’t want that life. However, I didn’t know what else I’d rather be doing. I didn’t have a clear “exit strategy” for what I could with my career if I left my current job. I had…zero ideas. So I stayed put.
Then the Great Recession kicked in. The economy buckled. Society panicked. Everyone whispered about “funding cuts” and other scary possibilities. Suddenly, tons of my co-workers started getting laid off. People with kids, aging parents, and mortgages, losing jobs they’d had for ten or twenty years. It was terrifying.
But I had a secret, shameful fantasy that I couldn’t admit to anybody…
I hoped they’d pick me next.
I know it sounds insane, but for me, at that point in my life, getting laid off sounded like…freedom. A fresh start. A second chance. A way to reboot my career and do something different. Something that really excited me.
Of course, I felt incredibly guilty for thinking those kinds of thoughts. My colleagues are getting laid off, left and right. Their lives are being ruined, and here I am, wishing for that! That’s seriously messed up. Besides, I’d worked hard to get the job I currently had. I ought to be grateful. That’s what I convinced myself to believe. I kept my head down, suppressed my feelings, and just chugged along.
Then one day, a guy named Jeff pulled me aside for a chat. Just like my boss, Jeff was an influential person at the company—a department leader, a former theater geek and actor, charismatic, funny, and beloved. Everyone sensed that Jeff was being groomed to replace the current CEO once he retired.
“Alex, we’re creating a new position in my department,” Jeff told me, with a warm smile. “I think you’d be a good fit. If you’re interested, I encourage you to apply.”
I’d always liked Jeff. And I definitely liked the sound of doing something new. He told me a little more about the new position—the responsibilities, the salary (almost double what I was currently earning), and so on. He urged me to throw my hat into the ring. So I applied.
Fairly quickly, Jeff called me in for a job interview. We had a great chat, and I felt good about my chances.
“If I get this new job in a different department…” I thought to myself, “…maybe I’ll be so much happier.”
A few weeks after that, Jeff invited me out for coffee. We walked to Caribou Coffee—which is like a Midwestern version of Starbucks with a prancing moose-like creature in the logo instead of a mermaid. We sat in the food court underneath the harsh fluorescent lights. He smiled kindly. He thanked me, again, for applying for the new position. He explained that they’d had so many qualified applicants, and that it had been a tough choice.
And then he told me, “You’re not getting the job.”
“Oh, that’s no problem, thanks for letting me know…” is how I should have responded.
Bursting into tears is how I actually responded.
I was mortified. It was like all my emotions came bubbling up to the surface, all at once—my frustration about my career, my uncertainty about the future, my lack of purpose, and my aching desire to figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing with my life—they were all spilling over the edge, and I literally couldn’t stop myself from tearing up. I dabbed at my eyes with a Caribou Coffee napkin and willed myself to stop, stop, stop. “Oh my god, this is so unprofessional,” I thought to myself. “Just stop.” But I couldn’t.
Jeff was probably surprised by this reaction, but because he’s a very classy guy, he barely let it show. Instead,