it's okay to "fail."

Over the course of the last month, I was applying for a new position at my company.

I didn’t get it.

In the past, I would have hid this rejection from everyone, specifically because I didn’t want to report back that I was a failure if I didn’t get it.

But I’m trying to learn that it’s okay to say, “I want this thing,” and then have to say, “I didn’t get it.”

It doesn’t make me a failure.

It makes me resilient. Vulnerable. Honest. Transparent. Brave.

and it’s not even a failure. it’s a portal into new opportunity.

This was an entirely new role—one that would be a huge deviation from the department I’m currently in and from the trajectory my career has been taking over the past seven years with this company.

I was genuinely intrigued by this new role because of how it aligned with my strengths and interests. And I made a good case for why it would be a good thing to have someone with my background coming into it, even though it seemed out of left field.

For a couple of valid reasons that I don’t need to get into, I didn’t get it.

this whole process was a learning experience for me in voicing what I want.

I love to do this thing where I hide all my desires until they’re realized. And if they’re not realized, no one ever needs to know that I desired them to begin with.

I think it’s a defense mechanism. I’m protecting myself from feeling the “shame” that comes with “failure.” I’m protecting myself from other people thinking, “Oh, you weren’t good enough?” (Which… what a terrible projection of me to even assume people would think.)

I fully surrendered into this process.

I applied for this job very well knowing that there was a slim chance that I would get it. I decided to apply anyway, because it felt right.

It didn’t make sense, but something in me said, “Try.”

And looking back, there’s a part of me that wonders if the entire lesson here was learning how to release my tight grip on outcomes—not even just the outcome of getting the job or not, but the outcome of what other people might think about me.

Because, honestly, it was awkward as hell when speaking to my manager about it; her manager about it. But I knew my truth was that it felt right to put myself out there. And so I did.

And I did something else—I actually told a few other people I was applying.

Old Courtney? She wouldn’t have told a soul.

Telling four people might not seem like a lot… but it felt like a big deal to me.

I allowed myself to get excited about it when I talked to them. I allowed myself to dream a little about getting it.

But I was fully detached from the outcome.

If I got it, I knew I would be diving headfirst into an exciting new chapter. If I didn’t get it, I knew that it would reinvigorate my ability to bring a refreshed energy into my existing role.

rejection and failure have become such dirty words.

As humans, we are so cautious about doing things that might lead to failure and rejection. We guard our hearts, which often means not putting ourselves out there to begin with.

But all good things come from putting ourselves out there—from leaving our comfort zones.

I’ve started viewing rejections as a sign that something even better is coming.

Even as I submit essays to literary magazines and journals, I view each rejection as a sign that there’s a more perfect home out there for my words.

I’ve surrendered to the idea of control.

I don’t have control over the outcome; I only have control over how I show up.

And if I show up in alignment, was it ever really a failure?

Or is it just the opportunity for another door to open up? An opportunity to learn something new about yourself?

I tried an aerial yoga class for the first time a few weeks ago with one of my close friends.

I was terrified that I’d look like an idiot or I wouldn’t have enough upper body strength to hold myself up.

But as I navigated the silk ropes and tossed my body upside down, fully trusting that my muscles and the silk would hold me, I realized something.

It’s okay to let go.

It’s okay to surrender.

I’d rather try and “fail” than never have tried.

Control is an illusion.

I didn’t get the job.

But I’m continuing forward with pride that I tried and the confirmation that it’s safe speak up and advocate for myself.

xx

Court.

No matter what rejections accumulate along my career path, may I always be lucky enough to make a living off working with books, publishing, and words.