If you are in the hunt to do the Professional Writing thing, you will get rejection letters.  Or at least emails.

But more than likely the worst rejection letter you ever get won’t come from a publisher.  And it probably won’t be a letter. (Or an email.)

It will come from someone whose support you’re counting on, someone who  you expect to be on your side, someone you hope will be your biggest cheerleader.  Someone who with just one little encouraging word could make you believe that you really do have something beautiful or meaningful or honest and good to share with the world.

And that someone will tell you you’re making a terrible mistake, that you’re really not that special, that they’re so disappointed in you, that you should know better, that you shouldn’t get your hopes up because you probably won’t make it … you know, all the worst of what you’ve already been telling yourself.

The good news is, it doesn’t just happen to writers.  It happens to everyone everywhere who tries to make a Big Change.  It’s what happens when you decide to take a chance to do something different and risky and new and unexpected.  It’s what happens when you’re courageous.

The better news is, no matter where it comes from, there’s not a single rejection letter out there that can actually prevent you from accomplishing what you set out to do.  Only you can do that.

Don’t do that.  Be courageous.

I have a tendency to treat momentary adaptations like intentional decisions.

Imagine you’re on a morning commute, stuck sitting in a line of traffic, and you decide to get off at the next exit to take a longer, alternate route.  And just as you’re going up the hill and around the curve of the exit, you get a better look, and realize the traffic jam ends about 1/4 mile past where you’re exiting. Probably in this case, you do the smart thing, and get right back on the highway and continue on your way.

Fact is, I don’t always do the smart thing.  SHOCKING REVELATION, I know.

Under other circumstances, once I’d gotten off at that exit, I very well might have just continued on my longer alternate route, instead of doing the Jerk-Who-Uses-Exits-as-Shortcuts maneuver.  Silly, I know. Why would I do that?

Because sometimes when I make a decision, I forget to re-evaluate it when new information appears. I get hard-headed and think “I’ve already made my decision, and I’ll see it through because I’m not a quitter!”  I’m committed.

This is one reason it’s so important to set clear goals for ourselves.  High-level goals give us a way to measure our choices and behaviors, helping us stay on track and short-circuiting unproductive uses of mental energy.  In the above scenario, my goal is to get to work as soon as possible.  I choose the longer, alternate route when it seems like that’s going to help me achieve my goal.  But new information appears, and suddenly my momentary adaptation is no longer necessary.  Or, to say it another way, I need to adapt my adaptation.

Whether writing a novel or improving your max bench press, reaching a goal is rarely, if ever, a straight-line process.  More often it’s a very squiggly line.  (Sometimes there are loops involved.  And messy scribblings.  And sad face doodles.)  But if you’re working towards a goal, that squiggly line is likely getting less and less squiggly over time.

To borrow a military example, guided missiles typically don’t fly straight to target in pin-point laser fashion.  They constantly make adjustments to their trajectory, right up until the moment of impact.

Commit to your goals. Adapt your methods.

And adapt them again, as necessary.