You never forget your first rejection. Mine came at the tender age of nine, at the hands of a haughty fourth-grader named Tommy, whose name I have changed here so he can’t come out of the woodwork and sue me for libel. I used the old have-a-more-popular-friend-pass-a-note one Friday afternoon, prompting Tommy to announce, in front of the entire cafeteria (on pizza day, which should have been a joyous occasion), that he would not, under any circumstances, accompany me to the Square Dance we would be performing for our families later that month. Continue reading “The subtle art of being rejected”
my alaskan odyssey 