Remedy for Rejection

“Puberty is a phase... fifteen years of rejection is a lifestyle.” From Sex and the City

One of the great benefits of cooking for others is you rarely get rejected. But outside of the kitchen, rejection is my lifestyle. For eighteen years I’ve been receiving rejections from publishers. I have collected more than 125 of them now on different pieces I’ve written. I file those rejections under “W” for “What the hell are you people thinking!” I keep writing and submitting to the black void. Children’s publishing companies now rarely even respond, so I should feel lucky to get one of those form letters on a half sheet, or better yet, a quarter sheet: “Dear writer . . .”

But this disease has spread to other areas where I ask, “Do you want me?” Dancing, online dating and applying for jobs are fertile grounds for long term rejection infection.

When I go out dancing, the women outnumber the men. And possibilities of a dance are even slimmer if you want a partner who can clap to a simple rhythm. Cut your chances in half if you want a partner who isn’t a mouth breather, a blamer, or so sweaty your hands slip apart and you think for one hopeful moment that that’s the end of it, but it’s not. So if you want to get a good dance in, you have to ask someone, and fast. It’s funny to watch some obvious women observing their prey. They circle, stalk, then pounce. And off they go smiling in the arms of a good catch. The encouraging part is most people who have taken lessons are taught to always say yes. Too bad they aren’t taught to breathe through their noses. But, saying yes: isn’t that nice? Maybe world leaders should be required to take dance lessons and move around the room arm in arm to a poppy little number during discussions. After all, half of dancing is listening. But not all dancers are good learners and some say no. I stand alone, miffed and motionless while others glide past. Not being asked sometimes feels like a rejection too. One man I dance with is a fantastic lead. Everyone wants to swing, cha-cha or fox trot with him. At the end of most numbers together, he tells me what a good dancer I am. But he rarely asks me to dance. I can’t figure that out. I try not to take it personally, but sometimes it festers and needs emergency care. So I ask some pretty good standbys to dance and we have fun in spite of their sweat or tonsil display or sense of duty to critique.

The same protocol is true for online dating. If I don’t ask, I stand alone outside the circle. But since there is no class for online dating, no one has been taught to say yes, and many don’t even reply. First I think, maybe it’s my hair, my age, my wrinkles. But then I try to remind myself that it can’t possibly be because of me since they don’t even know me. I also remind myself that we’re dealing with men here. That softens things a bit, but for immediate relief from rejectional suffering, I deleted my profile. Enough of this nonsense! I’m in no hurry.

But now we come to my current outbreak. I’ve submitted two resumes and have not gotten a reply on either. One was for a job in middle school—a job I feel I was groomed for. Couldn’t they at least spare a quarter sheet of paper: “Dear loser . . .?” I know it is CPS, but that doesn’t excuse people from common courtesy. So now, where’s my soothing ointment for this one? I run through the possibilities: they already hired someone; they want a man; they want a new teacher who won’t cost as much; it can’t be my hair since they haven’t seen it yet. In the end, I can say, they don’t even know me.

But the burn of the disappointment stuck with me for days until yesterday. Three little blessings in one day helped me know, once again, that I have the right job.

The first blessing came while singing with four students who showed up to practice Blackbird for next week’s orientation. We sang in four parts and when we finally got it, we sounded beautiful. I was so excited to contribute to that beauty. I felt all aglow with health.

After practice, I stopped in the programmer’s office to find out what I’d be teaching when school starts in two weeks. He still didn’t know. But in his office I introduced myself to the new assistant principal and a young fellow from central office who said, “God bless you,” when I told him I taught special ed. Another administrator there surprised me by saying, in front of these hot shots, “She’s awesome. The kids love her.” Now I have no idea where she got her information or if she was just trying to get in on the conversation, but anyone who wants to compliment me in front of others, I’ll take it. I walked out of the office feeling like I’d just gotten a booster against rejectionitis.

The last blessing hit me while I sat at a red light in the afternoon. I stared at the corner of Ashland and Ridge and remembered something that had happened years ago. My daughter and I were driving north past that corner when we saw three kids beating up another. I pulled over and ran to . . . I don’t know what. But I ran and yelled and got close and screamed “Stop it! Stop it!” as these kids punched this guy in the face. He was down on his knees and wasn’t even protecting himself. Girls were standing around laughing. The three boys started to walk away when one said, “You think he’s had enough?” They turned back, “No,” and hit him one more time. I yelled again and they walked away, all puffed up, oblivious to my pleas. The victim just stayed there. I grabbed his papers that had spilled out and told him to hurry up and get out of there. I flagged a squad car and saw the three boys run off in all directions. I didn’t know at the time about gang initiation, but no matter what you call it, it was horrifying to see. The incident stayed with me and finally inspired me to leave elementary and teach in Chicago Public high school. I saw it as a chance to make a last ditch effort to help kids before they are set out on their own. Sitting at the red light, remembering that experience reminded me that I’m right where I’m supposed to be. I’m going to call on that when I face the many CPS struggles this year.

In the midst of this condition, this lifestyle of rejection, I am a lucky gal. I get to post some of my writing on this blog and my friends and family comment. Thanks, you guys. On the dance floor I’m lucky enough to have some musical and fun dance partners. And thank goodness I have a job that I feel is a calling. I’ll continue to ask “Do you want me?” because there is always hope and possibility that I won’t bang my head against the file cabinet reaching for “W,” that I’ll get to smile radiantly around the dance floor, and all the while I am nourished by friends and family and a few kind students who answer, “Yes, I want you.”

Last night I made a delicious dish that no one rejected. Naturally that strengthened my immune system.

Indian Curried Vegetables with Tofu

3 medium cloves of garlic

2 inch finger of ginger root peeled

½ large onion chopped

1 heaping t. turmeric

½ t. cumin

½ t. cinnamon

¼ t. cayenne pepper

¼ t. cardamom

¼ t. or less cloves

1 t. salt (or more)

½ t. pepper

2 medium ripe tomatoes

3 medium small red potatoes, chopped

3 carrots, julienne sliced about ½ inch thick

½ medium sweet potato, chopped

Handful of green beans, strings removed

1 lb. of tofu, cubed

1 zucchini, quartered and sliced about1/2 inch thick

5 or so stalks of kale, chopped

Heat oil (sunflower oil can stand high heat) in a large skillet. Grind ginger and garlic in a food processor and sauté with chopped onions. Puree tomatoes on the food processor. Hurry! Don’t let the onions and garlic burn! Add the spices and stir until it looks almost like a paste. Add the tomatoes and stir again. Stir in potatoes, carrots and sweet potatoes. Add about a ¼ c. of water, stir and cover. Cook for about 8 minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir in the green beans and tofu and cover for 4-5 minutes. If the veggies are sticking, add a bit more water. Stir in zucchini and cover 3-4 minutes more. Finally fold in the kale and cover for another 2 minutes.

You can serve over basmati rice or just alone. A dollop of plain, fat free yogurt adds a nice touch.

You’ll be dancing radiantly around your kitchen as your guests sing your praises in four part harmony.