Amanda Lamb: Thin envelopes

‘Tis the season to find out if you got into college. In between the shopping and the holiday parties, students are getting their first glimpse at their possible futures. The ones who get in proudly post their acceptance letters on social media; the others stay silent.

One thing I’ve gotten really good at in my adult life is rejection. I honestly think this comes with age and life experience. In fact, I deal with so much rejection on a daily basis in my job that it barely phases me at all anymore. But it wasn’t that easy when I was young.

I clearly remember the April afternoon when I got a thin envelope in the mail from my first choice college. Instinctively, I knew what that meant. Back then, if you got a thick envelope it meant you were in; if you got a thin envelope it meant you were rejected. My parents were out of town, so I read that letter alone at the kitchen counter. It felt like my whole world was over, that I would never have another opportunity to be successful. And of course, that wasn’t true, but my 17-year-old self didn’t know that at the time.

As a writer, I’ve faced an incredible amount of rejection in my life. But I’m now experiencing something that is new to me-dealing with my child being rejected. I know, I know, I hear my parents’ voices in my head...

“Everything happens for reason.”

“There’s something better around the corner.”

“It’s not about you.”

I even hear some of these words coming out of my own mouth, but my fortitude and grace are nothing but smoke and mirrors. Inside, I feel every disappointment of hers as if it was my own, down to my core. It is guttural.

So, this is what it means to be a parent. We know we can’t shield our children from rejection, and we shouldn’t. It’s a vital part of life that everyone must learn how to cope with. Life’s not fair; learn this lesson early and avoid inflated expectations. But still, we want to absorb some of their anguish. If we could, we would take it all away.

I still have all those thin envelopes, those early reminders of rejection. For some reason, they were perfectly preserved all these years in a file at my dad’s office. He recently gave them back them to me. The envelopes and the letters haven’t changed. They are still as crisp and white as the day they were written 33 years ago. One thing has changed, though– me. I have walked through many fires and come out on the other side, stronger and better for them. Those letters did not define my future, my life. They did not define me. I turned out okay in spite of them. 

Hang in their 17-year-olds. You will find your way, your place, your fit. You have traded the thin envelope for the rejection email, something that won’t be saved and preserved for years to come like my letters. Instead, those emails will vanish into the ether, and someday, they will be nothing but a distant memory of a path not meant to be taken...