Last evening I sent out my monthly-esque newsletter and almost as soon as it winged through the ether an unsubscribe notice came in from MailChimp. “Darn,” says the notice, “You’ve lost a subscriber.” The reason for unsubscribing was given: “No longer interested.”
Ouch.
I’ve read the blog posts and the enlightened FB memes and I know we are not meant to take this personally, and that it’s actually good that people who aren’t aligned with us go on their merry way and that we should bless them as they go out the door. But still, in that moment not one meme prevented me from experiencing a sense of rejection – a pinching, painful ouch.
Think about it: I had once been interesting to this person who, of his own volition, signed up for my newsletter, but I had done something to lose his interest. Or so it seemed to me as I lay in bed that evening, not sleeping, and – truth be told – stewing.
Oddly, I couldn’t shake the image of snakes being thrown. Snake-throwing?
“At whom?” one must ask in any case of snake-throwing. At first, I felt that the unsubscriber had gratuitously thrown a hisser at me. He needn’t have given a reason for leaving my tiny tribe of subscribers. Was his reason meant to inject me with at least a small dose of poison? Of course, there is no way to know and of course it doesn’t really matter, but this is late-night thinking, so forgive me.
Shortly after that, I began to feel annoyed and I imagined that if I could, I might throw a snake or two at this no-longer-interested person. “You’re not interested?” I would holler. “Well, I’m even less interested in you – and here: how about a snake in your face to show you how I really feel?” Again, none of that is enlightened or makes sense, but it is honest. I mean, when you think about it, nothing could fail more utterly in demonstrating non-interest than pegging a snake at someone – but I was hurt and tired and wanted to get my own back.
At last the wound began to smart less and I started to let the whole thing go as I turned towards sleep. Another image came to me – of a beloved pet snake. I have never had a beloved pet snake, but somehow in my sleepy state, I knew what it would feel like to have a bond of beautiful trust and affection with a snake. It dawned on me that my whole enterprise – being a creator in the world, and all the teaching, performing, recording, publishing, releasing, announcing, and everything else that goes with that – is a beloved pet snake, and I would do anything to protect it from something as terrible and jarring as being thrown. Or even mocked. Or even, dare I say, to be considered uninteresting? “This snake?” I would say. “This snake is AMAZING! A genius. A lover. A sweetheart.”
“Oh,” says the unsubscriber, yawning and turning away. “Where’s the bathroom?”
And there’s the rub. My snake, so beautiful and fascinating to me, is not beautiful and fascinating to everyone else.
This is not only true of my mailing list, but also of all the other places I display my sweet snake in public. Recently, I found that someone (or ones!) had given me the old “thumbs down” on some of my Youtubes – videos which have fewer views than the number of people who could fit into the lobby of a modest sized Dunkin’ Donuts. Someone has to almost seek me out to offer their disapproval, and who knows how to parse the unlike? Does it mean that you object to my phrasing of John Drinkwater’s lines in my setting of his poem? Or that you just hate my snake/me? And then there’s the “unliking” of my Facebook page, which also seems kind of gratuitous, in that you so rarely see postings from tiny pages like mine, so you’d have to take the time to visit and unlike me.
I am coming to understand that as long as I show my snake to the public, some of them will love it, some will hate it, and some will be frankly bored by it. If you’re putting your stuff out there, I’m sure you’re learning this, too.
What’s a snake-lover to do?
Resist the urge to vilify the ones who don’t love your snake. They might dote on rats or miniature dobermans, or they might have always wanted a snake and now you have one and it inflames something in them, or they might honestly think snakes are the most boring thing to ever slither over the face of the planet. You just don’t know.
What I’d like to do from here on out – and I know there will be more of this because my snake is distinctive and I’m taking it with me more places these days – is just say: “Ah! Not a snake-lover. Not my kind of person.”
Only when I’m well-rested will I bless them as they blow through the door.
More important is to draw my attention back from the thumbs-down brigade and back to my fascinating snake. I plan to love the dickens out of it, protect it to the best of my ability, and also to train it to be resilient and hardy to all kinds of weather. And on no account will I permit it to be thrown.
Especially by me.
PS – I’d love to hear about your snake. Or your rat. Or even your miniature doberman. And I’d be grateful to hear what you do when someone tries to throw your little pookie, or when you’re tempted in an insane moment to throw your own darling at someone mean (or uninterested). Leave a comment and help my snake and me, OK?
Oh, the Unsubscribe . . . I’ve only had those on behalf of clients, so I haven’t had the chance to take it personally. But honestly I have to admit that I would kind of think, “They thought this person liked them, but they don’t!” Really, that person just doesn’t like getting emails. Snakes, dogs, cats, rats . . . bring’em on!
Wise woman! And you know, you’re right about people not liking to get emails, or just getting overwhelmed by emails. I totally get that. I think this one got me most of all because of the “no longer interested” comment. But even there, lord knows what that means. And have I ever lost interest? Um, yes! Thank you for your encouragement, Fair Helen!
Also to keep in mind: if you yourself have never unsubscribed from a Mailchimp-powered enewsletter you may not be aware that when processing an unsubscribe request Mailchimp does not just say “kthxbai” but delivers the exiting subscriber to an “exit interview” page which asks them to choose one of several reasons why they are leaving. “Not interested” is the *least* offensive choice (vs “I didn’t ask for this”, “it’s spam”, et al.). A technologically unsophisticated user may think they MUST choose one to exit. Plus I doubt many people would realize their action would drop directly onto you.
Betty, how illuminating! I did not know any of that, and it reveals yet another dimension of this taking-stuff personally thing. Of course, the truth is, “no longer interested” is honest and not inflammatory – it’s only my late-night self that took it momentarily as a little dig. This grasshopper has much to learn… 🙂 Thank you, Betty, for your helpful take on this. Your blog name is spot on, my friend!
I love that beautiful (soul) snake you share with us! Looking forward to seeing you Sunday! <3
Oh, dear Poseidon: THANK YOU. I am overjoyed to think I’ll see you Sunday!
Hi, Kate,
loved this post – and the path of your late night musings ending with a pet snake 🙂 It reminded me of a quote I recently reread: “you can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there’s still going to be somebody who hates peaches.”
Amen, sister! This is exactly what sometimes hangs me up. “But I’m really nice!” I wail in my own mind. “How could I have offended you? All I want is to please you and connect with you!” And meanwhile, the other person is saying, “I don’t like you and that’s that.” As my father would have said, “Period, end of report.” Doesn’t matter how delicious the peach, if you’re not up for a peach, it hardly matters. I know that, but I don’t KNOW that – or at least my learning is incomplete. Know what I mean? Thank you SO much for being so nice to my pet snake! 🙂
The ‘thoughts as snakes’ is new to me but I love the way you turned it into a pet. That’s the kind of thinking that helps me and is how I try to approach things.. I continue to be ‘interested’ and here’s why: I like that you are so ‘down to earth’ ! By that I mean that you seem to me quite practical and seek not to get too ‘carried away’ with this and that – except when it’s appropriate to your art to ‘let yourself go’ — and I assume you do because you come back with great stuff!
PS. sent you a note at ‘realmsofsilver’ Hope you got it.
Deb Goss, you are the best in the world. Thank you! Yes, the “thoughts as snakes” was new to me, too. I do like to pay heed to the crazy images my mind tosses up on the shore, especially close to bedtime, because there is often a strange logic in them. It took me some time last night and today to trace the line from thrown snakes to pet snake – and from hostility to appreciation and understanding. Glad I did and so glad this is helpful to you, too. I often think of Sir Paul McCartney who quipped, “There is always ‘comment'” – which is the politest way in the world to say “snake throwing.” Thank you, Songbird, for your kindness and understanding.
I once created an app that I placed on iTunes. It was made for children who were learning to count, and was bi-lingual, in English and Spanish. A very simple and fun app named Number Fiesta, and it’s on iTunes still. It’s total sales after these few years is around 3,000. Which isn’t a lot, by iTunes standards, but it tells me that 3,000 little kids are learning to count in either English or Spanish, or both! Well, one day, I received very negative feedback, one star, no good, don’t waste your money! And I was just so disturbed by this. What was wrong? The one star rating was going to pull my rating average down, you’re only as good as your last review, etc…Luckily, I knew someone who knew someone, who worked at Apple, and was involved with things in the iTunes store. The story I received was that this terrible review person was someone who did this regularly. She (it was a woman) looked for small studios, or single developers. She would write negative reviews, trashing the apps. Then, under a different name, she would email the developers and offer her marketing services!! She was drumming up business for herself, by putting a scare in people, then offering her amazing online marketing skills as the solution to their bad review problems!! It was just outrageous!!
Which brings me to your uninterested person. The only thing I can imagine is that they are an uninterest-ing person! The lack of connectedness to all the wonderful topics you explore is a mark on their character, for sure! How can someone not like music and poetry and photographs of beautiful New England days? It’s the sign of a sour, jaded soul…someone to be pitied. Maybe saying “good riddance” isn’t true to your feelings about what happened, but I would encourage you to consider what sort of dullard got away….they’re probably eating McDonald’s while watching reality TV and complaining about that, too!! I’m just glad you share your talents with the world, and hope you always will. There are plenty of us who feel very lucky to be on your mailing list!
Sign me as an interested subscriber,
🙂
Wow, Catherine – what an incredible story! And you’re so right: her behavior was completely outrageous – manipulative, deceitful, and even cruel. I’m so glad you learned the truth. I’m grateful to have heard this story because it shows again how little we know of why the nay-sayers are – well, saying nay. We can only guess, and we tend to guess in ways that leave us feeling worse. I am going to remember this one on the occasion of my next unsubscribe, unlike, or thumbs down. And Catherine, thank you so much for your wonderful encouragement. Means the world to me! <3
Many moons ago I read Tom Hopkins’ ‘The Art of Selling’. In it he relates that if you successfully sell once out of ten attempts then you’re doing really well. Getting gigs for classical guitar in the early days wasn’t easy. It made me come to appreciate the joke about the classical guitarist who when he won the lottery said he’d ‘keep playing concerts until the money ran out.’ Refined art forms are a specialized niche that most appreciate but can only handle small doses of. It doesn’t take much to get someone’s attention but it’s real hard to hold onto it. Only harder these days where so much competes for the audience’s attention and is easier to process. It’s a freeing thing to know I don’t appeal to everyone and not everything I do appeals to those who actually like what I do. That’s the part I revel in: being an artist.
What we do is hard, pure and simple. What comes easy to us, is hard for them. That’s the blessing. The learned part is coming to terms that not everyone will appreciate our endeavors. And that’s ok. That they took a little time to include us in their lives for a moment is the enrichment they can’t give back or get back. That they stopped and looked is enough for me to know that my artistry got their attention on the basest of levels. They couldn’t help themselves but take my art into their lives. It gives me confirmation that I’m doing something right.
It’s a cruel world and we’re so lucky to live in a place that allows us to do what we do. People will throw rocks and say mean things because it gives them some relief from their own pain. People who get it and love art don’t do that. I don’t worry about them. Bassist Doug Wimbish had a saying: ‘Ole!’ You’re the bullfighter letting all of the stuff go right by’.
Someone might tell me that I suck. But I can dismiss that if they can’t tell me why. And if they do say I suck and have legitimate reasons, they still lack tact and have a long way to grow. Someone who cares about me and my work will tell me that I suck but never have it sound like that and will probably be willing to help me make it not so.
I so appreciate your perspective here, Tim. There’s fresh air and freedom in it! You’re absolutely right to point out that simply getting someone’s attention even for a limited time is worth a high five or two, and I love your idea that art isn’t meant to agree with everyone all of the time. There are so many factors at work here, and the heck of it is, most of them are invisible or unknowable to us. All my life, I’ve known to just get back to the music (ie, “the snake” 🙂 and that has served me – and you, I know! – very well. That’s the heart of everything, isn’t it? Thank you so much for weighing in here. And let me say, too: you have one AWESOME snake, my friend!
So sad we’ll be away this weekend for a family memorial service – but we’ll be thinking of you and the good cause <3 !
Not to worry, Kate. Your fans are legion!!! We love you, and that’s what matters. Keep up your good work.
Go raibh maith agat, a Chaitlin Maire a stor. Truly appreciate your encouragement and kindness!
This is so good to read-I don’t submit my precious thoughts in poem/story/writing any further than most beloved admirer/friend or others trusting similarly in group, knowing I won’t be rejected. I fear rejecting anyone inadvertently or overtly to the extent that I forget what honest exchange is. I would simply slink away from blog space. No beautiful or ugly snakes to show or dodge them after thrown at me so much easier to hide from “thrower” and quietly despise him or her while I ask my snake to be patient with me.
Oh dear one, I hear you. Completely. There’s a powerful urge sometimes to “take my snake and go home.” It’s so easy to get hurt out there. I really love the conversation we’re having here because personally, I want to see as many people as possible step forwards and show us their beautiful snakes or cockatoos or pet grasshoppers. I don’t think we’ll ever create the conditions that mean people can do this without fear of criticism or rejection, but bearing in mind that it is never about us does help a little. As I write this to you, I realize that it’s not the criticism or rejection that hurts so much; it’s pulling my focus away from the joy of creating and exploring that really hurts. I expect I’ll always smart a little when I’m rejected, but I can imagine spending less time reeling from the impact… Thank you, beautiful Poet, for sharing your thoughts.
Kate – “people throw rocks at things that shine”. I’ll reiterate what a previous post said about mail services putting words in people’s mouths by giving them limited choices to the age old question “why?”. Don’t take it personally. Just know there is a silent majority out there who looks forward to every toss you make. ~ Tim
Wise words. my friend: not to take this or any of it too much to heart. And yes, such a good reminder than mail services sort of force the issue by offering canned reasons for leaving. Most of all, Tim, thank you for your encouragement and kindness!
Dear Kate: A revelatory blog post from you, as usual. Rejection is our normal state of affairs. Or, more accurately, feeling rejected. For if ten people love us and one does not, who do we devote our mental energy to?
I have a few dozen reviews of my book on Amazon. Most are embarrassingly positive. The few negatives are knives in my psyche. I bleed every time I read them. And, perversely, I do read them now and again. Like you, I have been tempted to offer a reply, a retort, a defense. But blessedly have resisted.
Creative people are fragile, vulnerable, yet, alternatively, fiercely independent and self-assured, immune to various slings and arrows. We have a thick skin just below the thin one so the arrows pierce and pain us but do not wound mortally.
A singer songwriter descends the stage after performing her two best songs. A listeners says, “I really liked that second song.” What is the first thought to intrude on the singer songwriter?
Oh, what delicate creatures we are.
Steve
You said it, my friend: we are such delicate creatures.
This morning, in the wake of all this discussion, I’ve realized that underneath the quick ego sting – What? You don’t like me? – is a scarier thought: What if he’s right? That question can be angled to do maximum damage at any specific time. Right now, as I’m stepping out more and even holding out my hat for help, the question can mean: What if I’m really not supposed to do these things? What if what makes me “interesting” or likable is that I don’t do these things? So a simple unsubscribe which could mean anything comes to mean, in a fevered late night thought, “I am terribly off-track, off-base, and off-kilter because, after all, this person has looked into my very soul and seen the awful truth of me.”
Oy vey. It’s all a good argument for getting more sleep, isn’t it?
So appreciate your wisdom and understanding, Steve. And whatever pet you are studiously NOT throwing – snake? iguana? katydid? – let me say, it is a splendid one.
Once upon a time, I painted a mural for the Mile Stretch Library in Pasco County, Florida. I hadn’t painted a mural in years and the first brush stroke was a prayer. The library thought it would be great fun to have me paint during business hours so people could come in a watch me paint (or….pray). They set up a book by the door that patrons could comment in. Every day, I would approach the book and read what the people wrote: “Beautiful” “Lovely” Genius!” Oh, how wonderful to read these words! I would go home and sleep the sleep of the blessed and loved artist. I came to love that book. Day after day, more comments piled in. “Brilliant!” “Very Creative!” My ego would hit the ceiling on the way out the door.
One day, as i was pouring over my adulation and praise, I came across this: “Very Amateurish.” I was stunned. My ego hit the basement. The words looked like all the other words: Same blue ink, but somehow this entry appeared illuminated in neon red. That red stung. I couldn’t sleep. I questioned my worth. I gave all my power away to those two words. My praying brush strokes faltered and I had to work and re-work areas of the mural.
I knew I couldn’t go on like this. I thought about ripping that page out. But that would have upset the librarians. If you have ever dealt with librarians you know this is something you never want to do. I’d rather face Genghis Kahn having a bad hair day than a pissed off librarian. So, I let the page stay. I knew I had to come to terms with my one and only critic.
Like your snake, I came to embrace the critic. I let his or her words swirl around me with all the other words and I realized they were just the words of others and I had the power to let them impact me in any way I chose. I chose to let them all flutter by. The likes and the one dislike. After all, I already knew that no matter what, I was always going to paint. I already knew that I was a creator down to my soulful tippy toes. No matter what people thought, said, or did around me, I would always find a corner and be creating something. So to hell with all reviews! All that mattered was who I was in my core. And as long as I was authentic, it would all be OK.
All that came from two words and one person brave enough to go against the tide. What a wonderful lesson for me! The money I made from the mural went towards bills and is long gone. The mural still stands and from time to time I visit it and remember every paint stroke and prayer that went into it. But most of all, I carry with me my authenticity and love of my creative soul and the blessing that came with a critic.
Oh, I love this so much, amazing Esmerelda! THIS thrills me: “After all, I already knew that no matter what, I was always going to paint.” Amen, sister. That knowing stands at the heart of everything. Thank you for sharing your story, your authenticity, and your creative soul. I bow to you in gratitude and love, Creator.
Awesome!
A chara Chait
As soon as I saw the word snake I thought of shed, shedding their skin–transformation…
So what are you supposed to shed? leave behind so you can let us see your shiny new skin?
Love
Suin
Siuan a stor, go raibh mile maith agat! What a wonderful gift to see you here with all your radiant poetic energy and wisdom. And yes, I think you’re spot on there about the snake energy. I think I’m shedding a skin made of self-doubt (doubt that gets inflamed with stuff like this) – and I think underneath there is a slithering, snakey keenness that LOVES just making stuff and sharing it with those who want it. And then making some more! Love to you, a chara.