I decided that I'm going to submit a piece of fiction to the New Yorker.
I don't know when that will be, and I am not working on anything that could be considered worthy of being published, but I am going to do it.
It's one of those things that I can be proud of, regardless of the outcome. I can imagine myself printing out the e-mail I get when my piece is rejected, framing it and putting it on my wall. People will come over and stare at my letter with bewilderment. They'll ask why I perserved something so depressing, and I'll just laugh.
I see people hestitate when they choose to follow their ambitions. There is such a negative stigma about rejection; it becomes a paralysis, and sometimes it prevents us from ever trying at all. I don't want to be trapped by such a fear. I have faced a lot of rejection already in my life, and I am ready to take more.
I don't aspire to be a professional writer, but it's a hobby I love and adore. If I ever did get published in something as incredible as the New Yorker, I would be elated, and it would make every rejection worth it.