I am a perennial optimist. I am optimistic about the weather, relationships, business opportunities, the kindness of strangers, and even more shockingly, I am optimistic about the Mets every.single.Spring. (This year is going to be their year you guys, mark my words.) At times this is an awesome quality. It keeps me hopeful, motivated and enthusiastic.
And then other times, my optimism can bite me directly in the butt. I have gotten soaked in a rainstorm because I was *sure* the sun would stay out. I have stayed in relationships wayyyyy longer than I should have because I believed that this week would be the week that my significant other would love me the way I needed to be loved. I’ve gotten my wallet stolen, because I believed no one would just take it out of my bag if I left it out and I have rooted for the Mets, and been heartbroken every Summer. (I need to reiterate here, this is something that happened in the past, not this year. This year we’ll kill it!)
Because I am such an optimist, when life goes sideways disappointment hits me pretty hard. What goes hand in hand with that disappointment is shame. I feel embarrassed about having been excited. Why wasn’t I more realistic? How could I have been so stupid?
This feeling hits me especially hard when I have been optimistic about something and I’ve excitedly told people about it, and then it has fallen apart. This happened to me when I was looking for an agent for How to Get Run Over by a Truck. A writer friend had introduced me to his fancy pants agent, and she had told me that my manuscript (my manuscript!) had promise and that she would consider taking me on as a client if I worked with an editor that she recommended. I did exactly as I was told, and I immediately hired the editor. All the while I told anyone who made eye contact with me about this ahmazing agent who was a very big deal and was so excited about me and MY work! We were going to be STARS!
Fast forward a year: my manuscript was in incredible shape because of the editor I worked with, my life savings were gone, and my optimism was at an all time high. I get an email asking me to come to the City to meet with the fancy agent to talk about the next steps. I put a bottle of celebratory champagne in my fridge to open when I got home from this meeting, I was amped!
Welp, the meeting went the exact opposite of how I had anticipated, and the agent told me that the book wasn’t publishable, she couldn’t represent me, and that the only possible way for this to get published would be for me to start all over again, and spend more money on hiring a ghost writer.
When I got home that bottle of champagne got opened, and I drank it, by myself, in the dark, with a straw.
All of my optimism drained out of my body and disappointment quickly filled the void. Disappointment brought its high school bully of a best friend…Shame, and boy did she have a lot to say!
Shame kept saying some pretty terrible things to me, making me feel stupid for being so hopeful, for wasting my money, for thinking I was good enough, smart enough, talented enough to for someone to be interested in representing me and my manuscript. These days, I call that voice Katharine Mac (the terrible annoying twin sister of my fun alter ego, Katie Mac)
This voice pestered me non-stop for weeks, leaving me emotionally crippled, and mentally exhausted, until one day after another unending monologue of why I was an awful person, I said out loud:
“I get it, I hear you, but could you shut the f*&k up? I’m busy.”
I startled myself when I said it, but holy shit, that felt good.
From then on, any time that Katharine Mac has acted up since then, I have treated it like I would any other rude person in the real world: acknowledgement of their feelings, a directive to either shut up, take a nap or grab a warm beverage or a snack – because they seem to need some love, and then get back to doing what I need to do. It has been the most helpful experience of my life.
What I’ve come to realize is that Katharine Mac is going to show up when disappointment strikes. She is going to try to make me feel stupid, ashamed, and unworthy of good and positive things, but she won’t be successful. Because just as quickly as she shows up, she can be quieted down and in her place can be the voice that says that strangers will return your wallet, that the sun will come out, and that 2020 is the year the Mets win the World Series.
Small Bites and Little Victories 