On Rejection: or how to Start Surviving in the Desert

Well, here is a familiar feeling: getting rejected from something I’ve applied for…again… Of course, it’s not the first time in my life, and certainly not the first time in the last few years. I’ve applied to a number of teaching positions, professorships, artists’ residencies, and grants over the last few years, as I look to transition away from being a student to being a career teaching artist. But my rejection rate is absolutely stellar, a staggering 100%. And when I think about that, it’s easy to feel despondent and crushed by the weight of that fact. Does everyone just not like me? Are my achievements and my work so mediocre and lackluster that they don’t merit at least an interview? Should I get plastic surgery or a face mask with an AI-enhanced hallucination of my visage so I can look more snatched and on fleek? Well, maybe, but stepping back from my panicky emotions (and body dysmorphia too, apparently…) for a second, taking a look more objectively at the broader situation and my place in it, and having a bit of a ramble, maybe some things will become clearer.

As far as this latest particular rejection goes, there are a few reasons I think I didn’t make the cut. The rejection comes from a competition for academic papers, with prizes awarded for scholarship in the field of viola praxis. Already a niche, but one I’m familiar with and a field I read/work in, at least recently. The paper I chose to write and submit was a distillation of my doctoral dissertation (on difference tone just intonation), hitting the main points from that larger work as they apply to viola pedagogy. I think this choice was a mistake for two reasons.

First, my writing style is already a tad verbose, dry, and technical. Choosing a topic that necessitates having to break down core technical concepts for the average violist introduces even more verbosity, desiccation, and technicality to the process and the end result. Coupled with the fact that my academic writing is already kind of mid, it doesn’t leave a lot of juice for the reader-cum-academic to squeeze. Further, my particular topic in pedagogy and my particular conclusions require a bit of a jump from the presently hegemonic methods; this presents its own headwinds to being considered for award in a competition like this.

Second, by choosing a pedagogical topic, I was setting myself up to be at a disadvantage from the outset. While I haven’t read all 31 papers that have placed in this competition in the last 26 years, by glancing at their titles, I have deduced that only two of them have dealt with pedagogy, either outright or as a secondary goal of the paper (a ~6.5% selection rate). Despite the competition guidelines stating that papers can address topics related to viola “literature, history, performers, and pedagogy,” the vast majority of selected papers address literature. This could reflect a failing on the part of the organization/juries to ensure that a diversity of research in our field is properly lauded. Maybe pedagogy isn’t as valued as literature research is in our field (a topic for another day, perhaps). Or perhaps viola pedagogy is seen as settled fact with no room for differing opinions. It could be that violists writing about pedagogy are just not that great at writing academic papers. Whatever the reason, perchance I should have chosen a different topic for this particular competition to take advantage of this bias.

Looking at the paper I wrote, and looking at my situation as well, it could be that I was excluded for failing to follow some minutiae of formatting requirements (a common theme in my writing “career”). Maybe I was considered more harshly, because I am recently graduated with a DMA, and while the the competition guidelines state that recent grads are also encouraged to apply, maybe there is more leniency given to currently enrolled students. Like, I’m graduated so I’m supposed to have my sh*t more together. But really, I think I’m just coming up with more conspiracies at this point and the real reasons for this rejection likely boil down to my middling writing talent.

And that’s the conclusion I’ve come down to when experiencing rejection recently. I’m just not good enough and not doing the right kind of work for the positions and allotments I’ve been applying for. This realization sucks. It hurts in a fundamental way, to have put in so much time and effort into doing something to the highest of your ability and to find out that it’s still not enough, not just for one person, but for multiple people, multiple committees, over many years. It’s not fun, and trying to impress others and clear these invisible hurdles set by people who have, arguably, cleared far lower hurdles in their careers has sucked the joy out of my practice and left me burnt out and disillusioned.

A few years ago I went to an excellent music entrepreneurship masterclass given by Ross Karre of the International Contemporary Ensemble (the good ICE). He made the analogy that the music industry, particularly the classical music world, particularly the contemporary classical music world, is like a desert. There are few natural resources and the plants and animals living there have become super well adapted to surviving on less and living in particular environments with particular other species. So, I think, maybe I’m not adapted to this desert. Maybe I can’t attract enough water with my scrawny leaves, or I can’t find enough food in the cool desert night with my beady little eyes. The metaphor is there, I just don’t know if I’m a cactus or a pack rat in this situation…

Realizing this has lead me to making a shift in my outlook, not just in my career trajectory, but also in how I view my practice and my work. Having the mindset of trying to be the best, to impress others and to fit into currently existing boxes, has only led me to rejection and discouragement. I am now developing ways to ask myself what processes and topics interest me and nourish me, aka “what sparks joy?” Instead of practicing for “what will impress others?”, I practice for “is this enough for me?” And as I slowly rebuild my practice after taking a few months off post-graduation, I am learning to notice the subtleties in my body, mind, and emotional spaces and to learn to process and adjust, instead of just ignoring and pushing on. So my practice sessions look a lot different nowadays. Instead of chewing through “standard rep” (but really, I never really chose the “standard rep”; maybe part of my problem fitting in too?), I practice whole bow open strings for 45 minutes, feeling how small changes in balance, support, and alignment change how the sound spins and how I feel playing the sound. Instead of playing through a movement, trying to memorize it for my next lesson/performance/rehearsal, and beating myself up when I make memory slips, I spend 20 minutes wondering if a septimal minor third sounds better than a 6:5 minor third in one particular measure. And that’s enough for me, right now. It may not be ”sexy” work, but it’s engaging and joyful for me. If that’s not enough to land me a full-time professorship or reel in a huge grant, that’s ok with me. (But if you want to give me a full time professorship or huge grant, yes please, thank you ;) ). Maybe I’m just waiting for the right monsoon to finally bloom.

Attached (or linked or something) you can find a PDF of the paper I submitted. If you find it useful, let me know! Stay tuned for more ramblings and ravings, and stay tuned for more musical projects coming out this year. While I’m currently enjoying the luxury of extended slow-practice sessions, I’m also working on some bigger things that I’ll release here/on Youtube/on other platforms as these projects come to fruition. I sincerely hope you’re doing well. Keep observing and watch the skies, traveler.

Best,

-Dr. Futility