Do you remember the last time you were rejected? Maybe it was a job application, a romantic interest, or even a simple request that fell flat. Rejection is a universal experience, yet in the arts it has a unique presence—an unwelcome traveling companion shaping our lives and careers. This chapter delves into the reality distortion field that rejection can create, how it defines us, and why we might consider abandoning the “bullshit” around it to find genuine growth. Buckle up; let’s jump into the world of Rejectorama.
“By the time I was fourteen, the nail in my wall would no longer support the weight of the rejection slips impaled upon it. I replaced the nail with a spike and went on writing.”
—Stephen King, “On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft”
Artists share a particularly intimate relationship with rejection, and it starts early. This is precisely the conversation I wish someone had initiated with me circa 1990. My own experiences with rejection were a mixed bag, and they didn’t serve me—or my students—especially well. On one hand, I was a gold medalist at rejection in dating or getting picked last in kickball; on the other, I got accepted to nearly everything I auditioned for musically. Even college was a breeze: I got into Eastman School of Music, discovered a humbling but manageable niche among its talented community, and coasted through the remainder of my youth with relatively few “No’s.” I felt incredibly lucky.
Rejection isn’t one-size-fits-all—yet it’s easy to assume you “get it” after a few personal heartbreaks or humiliations. Observing others’ rejections doesn’t necessarily grant you empathy for them, either. In hindsight, I realize I dismissed my own few rejections as “politics” or “they already knew who they wanted,” convincing myself I’d avoided rejection mostly through hard work, smart decisions, talent, and a bit of luck. This was naive.
Somewhere around 20 years in, I finally left my safe harbor to seek fresh opportunities—and it sucked. My resumes went unanswered, rejections piled up, and I found myself questioning everything: Was I a fraud? Had my entire career been some cosmic joke? Eventually, someone said “Yes,” and I was back in the saddle. But it gave me a sobering look at what other people go through daily. I realized how naive I’d been. My perspective changed drastically.
Over the years, I’ve worked with thousands of singers on audition cuts, college recommendations, and more. Many encountered big rejections. My advice in those moments used to rely on “inspirational” platitudes: “Every no brings you closer to a yes,” or “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” The truth is, such quotes are unhelpful. Rejection isn’t intrinsically “bad” or “good,” nor does it inherently “build character.” It’s merely a moment along the way. You decide how to frame it.
Picture yourself on the center square of a foggy map in a video game. Everything beyond your current square is blacked out. As you push into the darkness, you discover new paths. Sooner or later you encounter obstacles—and it’s up to you whether to detour, retreat, or attempt to push forward. You could avoid all obstacles by staying in your comfortable little corner, but that’s not really exploring. Each rejection is a fork in the road: “What do I do next?” The potential is there to confirm your values and decide your own direction.
Some say, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I’ve found that certain hardships did nothing but turn me a bit cynical or jaded, so I’m not sure about that. Another favorite: “Every no brings you closer to a yes.” Sometimes it doesn’t—sometimes it just leads to another no. Trying to glorify rejection as something heroic can be as misguided as viewing it as the ultimate doom.
For years, I considered rejection purely a “lost opportunity.” Now I see it more as an opportunity itself—granted, an unwelcome one, like being unexpectedly assigned to solve a puzzle. Rejection often comes with a swirl of emotions: pain, disappointment, fear, shame, depression, self-doubt, anger, you name it. No pithy slogan can erase that. Sometimes you really do need to sit in that discomfort for a while. It’s valid. But once the smoke clears, you can ask: “Where am I, and what’s next?” That’s the gift hidden inside the “No.” The ability to pivot, to reconsider, to explore another avenue or skill—that is your chance. Embrace it.
So, the next time “No” slams in your face, see it for what it is: a signpost, not a wall. Grieve if you need to, analyze if you must, and then decide your next move. This is how you claim control over rejection—by turning it from a dead end into a directional arrow. That’s the essence of Rejectorama: using the “No” to chart your Yes.
UP NEXT