In A Perfect World
Let’s try to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes for a few minutes. Perhaps you once wore those shoes, or a similar pair, yourself. But even if you didn’t, or especially if you didn’t, let’s see if putting on other people’s shoes can give us a glimpse into the workings of their heart and mind.
The first pair of shoes in question are sneakers, and they’re on the feet of a kid in an empty lot on a Sunday afternoon. Or a kid in summer camp. It doesn’t matter where he is; what matters is the fact that he, along with a bunch of other kids, is eager for a game. Now that everyone’s assembled, it’s time to choose teams.
Heart in his mouth, he watches as boy after boy is selected by one team captain or another. He waits for his name to be called. For that all-powerful captain to point his finger decisively at him. But it never happens. Our hopeful, be-sneakered kid is not picked for either team. Instead, he’s relegated to the bench, a backup or understudy who will never take center stage. He didn’t make the grade. He is one of the unchosen.
Another pair of shoes, this one with heels and a nod to fashion, bedecks the feet of a young woman coming home from a shidduch date. She has to hold herself down or she just might start walking on air. The date, she thought, went well. Even very well. The bochur in question checked off all the boxes on her wish list for a prospective spouse. Smiling, she kicks off her shoes and waits for the phone to ring.
When it finally does, the message it imparts is not the one she hoped to hear. It seems that she and Mr. Right were not on the same page at all. Turns out he was actually Mr. Wrong. While she was ready to say yes to another meeting, and maybe even to a shared future, he has other plans. She remains alone with her disappointment. Unchosen.
The third and final pair of shoes we’ll be trying on today belongs to a husband and father in search of a job. Either figuratively or in reality, he wears down the soles of those shoes knocking on doors in search of the perfect position. Or, if truth be told, any position that will help him support his family with a modicum of dignity.
He’s not the kind of person who stands out. His work resume doesn’t snag the eye. How can he successfully compete with all those overachievers lining up for the position he wants?
The answer is, he can’t. While he’s invited to several interviews, some of which are pleasant enough to fill him with hope, he is repeatedly let down. When it comes to actual job offers, the pantry is bare. He’s left to trudge back home, down at the heels. Unchosen.
Now that we’ve tried on all these mythical pairs of shoes, we ought to have a strong sense of how the wearers feel. Disappointment is at the top of the list of emotions they carry away from the experience, but there’s more. Rejection can hit different people in different ways. Depending on the temperament of the rejected one, the reaction can be either sad or mad. Sometimes, it’s both.
How do these emotions look? What mental message is the rejected one hearing as he wallows in disappointment?
I didn’t make the grade. I never did, and I never will.
I’m a failure. A zero. An unwanted piece of flotsam on the sea of life.
My hopes mean nothing to anyone. I will always be let down if I dare to dream.
That’s the “sad” reaction. The rejection triggers a deep, melancholy conviction that you’re as worthless as the present failure has made you feel. Your self-confidence is undermined. Your entire self-image is called into question. And don’t even ask what it does to your self-esteem…
Such an extreme “sad” reaction is not healthy. While it’s natural to feel low after a disappointment, it shouldn’t be long before deflated spirits are re-inflated and bouncing up to meet the next challenge. Our belief in ourselves, in our inherent goodness and worthiness, in the validity of our dreams and our basic lovability, ought to remain intact in the face of rejection. Even in the face of repeated rejection. That belief should be a hard, diamond-like kernel inside us that nothing can chip away.
But our psyches are fragile things. Being unchosen in a specific context ought not leave such a deep dent; yet, so often, it does. And that psychic injury hobbles us and keeps us from moving forward.
The second reaction to disappointment is to get mad. Instead of letting your spirits droop with a sense of your own unworthiness, you fire yourself up with indignation at the misguided one who failed to recognize your sterling qualities. With little or no thought as to your own qualifications or abilities, whether it comes to baseball, shidduchim, a work position or anything else, you direct the weight of your emotional reaction at the rejector. Instead of thinking badly about yourself, you reserve your ire for the other guy.
While such a reaction is spunky and self-embracing, it doesn’t always jive with the situation. Your being unchosen doesn’t necessarily translate into the chooser being blind, biased, or mentally deficient. The reality may be that you’re simply not the right person for that particular job. It happens.
The worst part about such a reaction is its capacity for throwing the wool over our eyes. There’s nothing like a good tirade for obscuring some subtle but vital point. Getting mad at the person or system that rejected us can keep us from seeing truths we need to see.
If being sad or mad are reactions with a limited capacity to move us forward, what should our attitude toward rejection be?
Being unchosen hurts. But it also affords an opportunity. When the door we wished to walk through slams in our face, that’s a good time to look for a door into greater understanding. Each rejection is an opening of sorts. It offers us a chance to do some introspecting, to figure out what, if anything, we did to contribute to the rejection we experienced.
It also offers a chance to make decisions. Instead of beating himself up as unworthy and undeserving, the kid sadly sitting on the bench while his friends play ball can decide: Is baseball important enough to galvanize him into action? Will he dedicate all his free time to practicing until he makes the grade? Or will he turn his back and look for a pastime better suited to his abilities?
Our young woman who hears “no” instead of “yes” does not have to give up her dream. She may need to study it a little more closely, to make sure it’s realistic. She could also start to daven with more intent and intensity. And maybe she just needs to relax with the understanding that every person has her own mazel and will take life’s journey at her own tempo.
Disappointment is painful, but it’s not a tragedy. It’s surmountable. Even more, can become a stepping-stone to something else that may in the long run prove better.
It’s okay to feel moderately indignant if we think we’ve been unfairly slighted or overlooked, though never with arrogance. It’s okay to feel sad when we’re not chosen… though not for too long. But it’s not okay to denigrate our own self-worth or lose faith in our dreams. Those things are our inalienable right to retain.
Rejection may feel like a barren land, but it’s actually only a street we need to cross to get to our destination. Our main focus, in the context of a lifetime of growth, is to take disappointment and run with it… toward heightened self-understanding, stronger emunah, and the knowledge that Hashem chose us and continues to choose us with every breath we take. And that’s a pretty good place to be!
