You, sir, have been canceled
What's worse than rejection?
The clock struck 16.
No, not 13.
No, this is not 1984.
It’s 2021. March 12th, to be specific.
And it was 4 pm.
Seventy degrees — if it weren’t so cloudy, it would be a gorgeous day. Low angled blades of twilight slip through the clouds. Whenever they can, they yellow the world for a beat. Then it all turns back to windy squints of gray.
I’m standing at that high wooden kitchen table, upstairs in that bright-pink two-story on Santa Rita Street, with the open balcony door overlooking that canary-yellow side yard.
I’m staring at an unopened email, an email I received yesterday, an email which I am scared to read.
I wanted to wait until Friday, after I had already done my writing for the day—and everything else.
I know I won’t be able to focus after reading it.
Nobody’s home. So, either way, acceptance or rejection, I’m free to make some noise.
I open the email.
For a long time, I’ve been unable to figure out why TV never seems to hook me.
I now see it’s the same reason why I’ve moved from city to city to city every few months during my twenties. And it’s why, for a long time, I’ve been sort of floating around, following my interests, working on myself, trying to do whatever good a twenty-something could do in the world.
I think i’ve figure it out. And it can be boiled down to one word:
50 hours of show is a commitment
Seeing the same faces/places every day is commitment
Working a ‘real’ job is a commitment
No, it doesn’t make me feel any better that plenty of people my age, especially men, have commitment issues. There’s fascinating evolutionary explanation for it too—makes me feel worse.
There are a few things I am completely, 100% committed to:
Physical Health
Mental Health
Family
Writing
Number four is the most recent addition to this list. She’s young, and hungry, and has no idea what the hell she’s doing. Let’s call her Rita.
Rita and I turned 26 a few weeks ago.
We’re not nostalgic about it.
Something about that #26 makes me not just ready to commit to something, but eager.
I think it’s because time treats people like an old set of leather gloves. We soften up over the years and become that good-ole pair of nice’n beat-up gloves. None of that new, crunchy stubbornness.
Being old is good. Being young is good.
But being now is best.
Rita likes what the illustrious Bill Murray has to say about being committed to now:
You can replace “die” with any sort of negative image you like—fail, fall, bomb, be rejected, make a mistake, forget your lines, go broke, crash the business, use the wrong chemical, add a bad ingredient, come up short, choose the wrong date, get booed off stage, paint a ghastly picture, write a piece of garbage, o usar la palabra incorrecta.
Failure to commit is a fear to fail.
If you are a neophyte1 skier, no one cares when you go face-full-of-snow down the slope. But if you’re experienced, let alone an Olympian, you’re “not allowed to fall”
That’s why I was, for 25 years, afraid to commit to anything.
But I’m ready to
Enough dancing around. Time to explain the title of this piece.
Remember in Treasure Island when Jim finds the treasure map?
Eight months ago, I discovered my sure thing treasure map.
It came in the form of a Master’s program:
It’s a fellowship at UT Austin aimed to groom young writers, filmmakers, and poets.
And it pays. Fairly well.
Back in October, I sensed the beginnings of getting cabin fever. A friend and I planned a trip to Mexico. I was excited to explore—getting outside the American bubble would give me time and mental juice.
Sitting at a chic lounge in Tulum, while the rest of the place drank margaritas and chomped down guac, I scribbled down the entrance essay. The months that followed, sitting in my “backyard-office,” I rewrote that essay about 50 times. Finally, visiting my brother in Newport Beach, I submitted and celebrated with a morning swim in the Pacific.
I’ve been waiting for three months for that email.
And now I can’t open It.
It’s the email I’ve imagined opening 100 times.
Every time, it’s yes.
Every time it fills in all the cracks for this hungry-26-year-old-everyday-writer whose heart is emaciated by want of:
Guidance
Commitment
Eventually, I open the email.
Ready to commit, ready to make Austin a permanent home, ready to dive all-the-deeper into career-writing—Canceled.
My blinker was on, I was just about ready to make the turn, when the stoplight went from green to red.
Oddly enough, I am less sad than you would think. Maybe that’s my temperament, but I’m still tempted to ask why I’m not more upset. What does it mean? That, maybe, this wasn’t the right opportunity? Maybe I sort of expected it? Is the universe speaking to me, indirectly?
Universe: “Not now, young grasshopper. Not yet.”
Jeremy: “Ugh.”
In truth, the Michener probably was the right opportunity, but it was also the easy one.
A program like this spoonfeeds you a marinated, seasoned, well-cooked network of teachers and creatives. Yes, I would’ve learned a lot. Yes, I would have grown on various levels. Yes, I would have been committed to writing.
But it’s not the only way to learn, to grow, and to commit.
The personal chef isn’t always going to be there.
And, in my experience, you learn a whole lot more when you cook the meal yourself.
Highways are straight, fast and efficient. This program would have been a highway for me, and I know it. But is life ever straight, fast and efficient?
I’m still 26. I'm still ready to commit. But this 8 month process has taught me three things:
Be Humble. Only soon-to-be-canceled chumps like me think they’re a shoo-in
Be Courageous. The difficult way is the right way, the way you learn.
Be Patient. 👇
Many thanks to all of you who provided support and feedback on this application. You helped me cut the essay from 1200 words to 750 — it was, to say the least a much needed exercise in brevity and taking feedback.
And on the book front…
Who is on Goodreads?
We just uploaded The ToK there!
🕺 Beyond cool to see people across the world on Goodreads who are “currently reading” Will reach out to y’all individually, but would love if you could:
🙋🏼♂️ Grateful for your reading.
Feel free to share this Substack with anyone who might enjoy this guy’s brain pokings. Or, more importantly, share the book.
And if you were forwarded this letter, subscribe here:
Take care and have a smooth week
—Jeremy
Thanks to Quentin Tarantino for teaching us a new way to say beginner—Neophyte