Well, I've certainly felt the whole range of human emotions in the last two days. I felt the sting of failure, the testicle compressing castration of rejection and the sudden relief of calm. A series of tragic disappointments resulted in my falling into a oozing vat of sorrow only to be saved by grasping a passing olive branch.
A few weeks back, it was suggested by my photography professor that I might be able to get a job at local weekly SEE Magazine.
Naturally, I was excited, even a little elated, that I might have a foot into the door of the media industry. Zealously, I looked through my thousands of photos for those perfect five that would describe me as a photographer. I looked through my Wainwright photos, I looked through my fashion photos, my sports photos, everything I had done to date that was of any admiration.
Finally, I narrowed it down to 15 photos and took them to my professor to help me pick out five. Here, I should have seen the impending signs of doom by his lack of enthusiasm for the photos I had shown him. However, naive and full of fresh and greasy hope, I took my top five and produced a portfolio CD for the Artistic Director of SEE Magazine.
All was quiet.
Finally, after two weeks of suspense, I finally emailed him. What I recieved in response was a crippling critique, the first I had heard since I had picked up a camera. My portfolio, according to him, was "incredibly weak." He assured me that he saw potential, but that I was at that point not cool enough to play in his sandbox.
This followed an earlier incident of personal failure when, running on three hours sleep and two weeks of frustration, I handed in my (IMO Shitty) bathroom attendant story, only to recieve a mark on a story I had written earlier about Oil Royalties that was near dismal, barely passing with a 28/50.
Overburdened with frustration and fatigue, and completely devoid of any sense of self confidence, I succummed into slumber and began constructing vulgar metaphors.
Today, after returning from my radio class, I remained crippled with self disillusionment. Each click of the mouse in my search for contacts for my next story, not editor approved (naturally), was like pushing a boulder up a hill; I could hear my moans of displeasure as I asked that eternal question...
"What the fuck am I doing this for?"
However, determination will always solve the problems of the human race. In spite of the complete collapse of my self-esteem, I wrote down contacts and finally aquired the will to phone them.
I now have interviews set up with both the spokesman of the Canadian Atomic Veterans Association and the Ministry of Defence. With this in hand, my feelings of helplessness and failure seemed to wash away like a spot of dirt.
And now, there is calm.
There is balance in nature.