I’ll say it a million times -- this is not the easiest year to be Ariel Davis.
When the days are like this, I’m often on street corners with my arms folded (or in pockets), trying to make a decision about where to go next (in both a literal and figurative sense). I hear Milton in my head, like a mantra, “When I consider how my light is spent.”
Lately it is spent worrying about the future. God, the future! We often like to imagine it exactly as we want it to be, instead of possibility that it’s the opposite. I’m living the opposite of the life I wanted. I’m wasting my light.
All of this has recently been amplified by several personal setbacks. People ask me all the time: “How do you deal with so much rejection?” and they’re usually speaking about my dating life (though there’s rejection in every venue).
I just shrug and say “I’m a writer.”
A writer’s life is rejection, and I have been in that realm for many, many years. Your pitch gets dumped, your story killed, your play rejected, your screenplay rejected, your sketch rejected, your short story rejected, your novel, your essay, your poem, your idea. I signed up for that the second I decided what I wanted to do with my life. When you say you’re going to a writer, it’s like knowing for awhile that you’re going to be nothing at all.
But going back to Milton, back to my light, back to this Friday – I was on a street corner in midtown, having those thoughts. Wondering when I would be the right fit for the right person or thing. Wondering if it is even worth the worry and attention I give it. If I should just keep playing the game and having faith in the process, even if it’s killing me.