Networking to nowhere

What to do when you get ghosted by Lance... and other forms of rejection

Morning time, at my desk.

I sit down. 

It’s day 27 of 100.

My ambition was to reach out to one new person every day, for 100 days. I chose to do this so I could satisfy my raw desperation for connection. And find a job. 

Now I realize I am crazy.

I’ve already run out of people and I’ve run out of things to say.

I’m tired. 

I didn’t know it would be this hard.

I already reached out to the people on my list.

I even emailed the son of that lady from my mom’s water aerobics class… He’s a director.

Lance.

And yeah, he didn’t respond. 

And yeah, I still think about that.

Another rejection. 

Rejection is something I like to think I’m pretty good at. It’s one thing life as an artist teaches you at a young age.

Lance ghosting me doesn’t completely discourage me. It’s not necessarily painful, because I don’t know this man so why should I care, but embarrassing? He’s cool and successful and interesting. He’s busy being the toast of Sundance or something. He doesn't have time to respond to an email from me. 

This makes me feel worse about myself and I shut my computer. 

I am a sentimental fool. 

I care very deeply about things like this.

This is why I can’t reach out for the 27th time.

I shut my computer.

I quit.

30 mins later.

I’m suddenly doing something useless on my phone for 15 minutes and see that Nicolette, who I went to high school with, is doing amazing.

I feel, weirdly, even worse.

We had a falling out for some reason and I can’t remember why.

I look up at the tall mirror leaning against my wall and see my sad little face and my hunched spine. 

Then I have an impulse… 

I cock my head, still looking at myself.

I should reach out to Nicolette.

We haven’t talked in years and I feel like she hates me, why I can’t remember, but I should totally do it. 

She could be my 27th reach out.

Now I’m excited.

I feel the rush of a good idea coursing through me. Nothing thrills me more than moments like this. 

I open up my computer to type something up and realize I have nothing to say.

I take a throaty deep breath.

I’m stuck again.

This is how quickly things can change in a creative pursuit. One minute you’re a genius, the next you’re staring at the blank page, falling into the void. The feeling hits me all at once, like my soul / face is being sucked by a dementor.

What could I possibly have to say to this person who might hate me?

I shut my computer

I quit, again. 

Later that same day, on the subway.

I feel my left eye twitching and think it might never go away.

I put my hand there and apply pressure and then look around as if I’m wearing an eye patch. What would it be like to see the world with one eye?

Maybe I’d be more interesting. 

Maybe if I were more interesting Lance would respond to my email.

Then my right eye catches the eye(s) of a kind looking woman who is a few years older than me. She is probably my exact age, but I think she is older because she looks way more put together than I feel. 

Her hair is twisted in a fancy little ponytail. 

She has a round face with bright eyes and playful freckles. 

She looks like a seashell. 

Even though she probably likes me because I have one eye, I impulsively remove my hand. 

She smiles and lets out a little chuckle and I do the same. 

And there it is. Connection. Is there anything more glorious than that feeling? It’s the most human thing we have. It lifts us up where we belong. It unfurls the brow and gives us a breath of fresh air. Ahh. The moment feels like a miracle. I want more of it. I crave it. 

I remember my goal to reach out. Of course I didn’t run out of people. There is literally an endless amount of people– genuine, interesting, wonderful people in the world to reach out to.

I remember Nicolette. Of course I have something to say… even hello is a start. I could share a great book or article she might like. Maybe I could let my guard down. I could be honest and tell her I have no memory of why we stopped being friends and a delusional fear that she hates me. There is an endless amount of things– thoughtful, honest, silly things to say.

Evening time, back at my desk.

I sit down.

It’s day 27 of 100, damn it. 

I remember why I chose this goal. 

I think of Lance and smile. Rejection is what I signed up for. 

To reach out is to risk.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the tall mirror leaning against my wall and find a new kind of conviction. The fire in my belly, twinkle in my eye kind. 

I type up a message to Nicolette. Not perfect, but it has all the components for what makes a good reach out. It is specific, generous, and honest. 

I hit send and watch it disappear into the ether. 

I realize something important. If I can make it to day 27 I can make it to day 100.

—

Now it’s time to get intimate. Let us peek inside my inbox and dissect the email to Lance. 📥