It’s got to be a rejection letter. It’s just got to be a rejection letter. I can hold it up to my forehead and know that it’s a freaking rejection letter. Damn. Why did I send them that work? What was I thinking? I should have sent them something more “normal” not the usual stuff I do. I’m sure they won’t get it. I’m sure they didn’t like it. I’m sure they probably just looked at my stuff, laughed, and pushed “next” on the projector without giving it any thought at all. Damn. Why am I so stupid? I should know better than to try for these things. Experimental my ass, I should have sent them a nice, freaking bluebonnet photo. I’m sure they would have just loved the crap out of that. I mean, that’s what everybody else does, right?
I can tell it’s a rejection letter-it’s thin. Good news always comes in fat packages. When a letter’s busting at the seams, damn! It’s good news. Anything thin? For sure, it’s a, “thanks, but no thanks” letter, written as carefully worded as they possibly could have, telling you that, “we have many great entries this year,” and “blah, blah, blah.” Doesn’t matter. Might as well stamp a big, freaking “NO” right in the middle of your forehead. NO NO NO NO NOOoooooo. Not you, not this time, not this show. You’re not good enough. We don’t want any. We gave at the office. So sorry, not for you. Better luck next time. See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya. Always a freaking knock at the freaking thin letter doorway of life, waiting there, when you get home, just waiting to pounce and and do it’s little “No” happy dance on your otherwise miserable existance of a day. Great. You and the freaking bubonic plague make my life worth living.
Hey, wait a minute. Thin letters usually don’t start out with the word “Congratulations!” now, do they?
Holy Crap! I’m good! I knew it. I just knew it! I knew all along I’d get into that show. It’s my time, it’s my place, it’s my exhibit. Move over all you lucky, beautiful people, I’m elbowing my way into your semi-charmed kind of life. I’m pulling my butt up to the “blessed and lucky” barstool and I’m going to drink from the tap of “damn! I’m good” for a spell. Chew on this, for once, just once, I made it. Damn! I knew it all along. I’m a winner.
Honest, that’s just how it feels. And so it goes. The wheel in the sky turns, the exhibition record grows, the shows go up, the shows come down and, with each passing show, the doubts never do really seem to go away.
It’s kind of what I like about photography. You never can tell what’s around the next bend. You can go from a “sure thing” to a “has been” all in the click of a shutter. It happens that fast, enjoy it while it lasts. And to think, I almost didn’t even open up the envelope, figuring, for certain, it was just another rejection.
Until next time…