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.
Choosing the artist’s path means saying that you are going to permanently invite criticism, humiliation, self-doubt, and all kinds of uncomfortable feelings into your life. That’s part of the deal. The vulnerability never ends. Not even once you’ve “made” it.
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.
* * *
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
