Kim McLarin

A few months back I applied for this ridiculously great job, hosting a television show, locally produced and aired, focusing on political, social and cultural issues important to the black community, interviewing black writers, scientists, educators, etc. Never mind that I have almost no television experience I heard about this job and I knew it was mine. Mine, I tell you. I went into the audition jittery but confident; I blew every ounce of energy I had into the take and left figuring better than a fifty fifty shot. A lot better. Never mind that I have not auditioned for anything since I auditioned for Uncommon Women and Others freshman year, college. And did not get the part.

As the weeks passed with no word from the producer, however, my confidence began to flag. By mid August I assumed the worst. Then, one day while I was in California, driving on a highway, appropriately, my cell phone rang. The producer. My heart hit the gas pedal and soared off down I 80 like a little red Corvette.

"Sorry it's taken so long to get back to you but I had some things to work out," she said.
"Oh, I understand," I said, now practically jitterbugging in my seat. Think of what fun I'd have! Think of all the cool people I would meet! This baby was in the bag!

But, no. Apparently it wasn't.

"Well, we've decided to go with someone else," she said. "But you were my second choice."

She went on for another five minutes or so, very kindly, explaining that she'd loved my energy on camera, my faux interview of a local musician/poet/schoolteacher, etc. How she had considered going with me but worried about my lack of television experience, how I, fer sure, had a future in the biz (at my age) if I could just get some training etc under my belt. I thanked her politely and hung up. It would be nice to say that all her kind words softened the blow of not getting my dream job, but let's be honest, people: they never do.

Who among us has not had her fair share of these Encouraging Rejections in love, in career, in life? Who among us even as we sit there in the bar with a pained smile pasted upon our face while the guy we yearned for (and he is, usually a guy, not a man. But that's a subject for another day) goes on and on about how great we are, how funny and smart and beautiful, just before he slams down that looming "But" and heads on out the door who among us has not wondered Is this shit supposed to make me feel better? Does understanding that it’s really, really not about me ever fucking help?

Second choicers of the world, unite. You have nothing to lose but feeling bad. Because I tell you all, there are few things more discouraging than the Encouraging Rejection. The Encouraging Rejection sucks.