Read this when you’re feeling unwanted & rejected.

This is a story about feeling unwanted and rejected. But there’s a happy twist. Promise.

. . .

The first thing I noticed was his body.

The whole shape and frame, silhouetted in the doorway.

Headlights from a passing car creating a piercing white halo around him.

He flashed a smile, full of Irish charm. When he sat down next to me, I swear, every cell blushed.

Six hours later, we were lying on the roof of an abandoned building, watching the stars slip into dawn … and so on.

I was ravaged by a hurricane of possibility. Where did you come from? Who ARE you? Are you The One? Is this even real?

I was dazed for seven days.

I called all my girlfriends. I emailed my mom. I wrote a volume of poetry. I re-wired my life to include him.

Oh, just one problem: he was newly divorced, grieving and messy, entirely un-ready to devote to … well, anything.

But I persisted and pursued, trusting that my love would transcend his pain.

After all, who wouldn’t want … me?

Well, as it turns out: him.

He didn’t want me.

And it really had nothing to do with me.

So, I sobbed to my girlfriends. I leaned into my mom. I wrote another volume of poetry. I re-wired my life to remove him.

No bitterness — just a bruised ego. So long. Farewell.


That same week — broken-hearted but hopeful, optimistically seeking appreciation — I pitched myself to a local TV station.

I sent my press release.

I canoodled with an anchor on social media.

I invited my friends and fans to support me — and you crushed them with enthusiasm.

I sent the News Director an audio message, personalized and packed with love.

I did everything right.

I went above and beyond.

And even when I didn’t hear back from anyone — not even a “thanks, but no thanks” — I persisted and pursued, trusting that my passion would captivate the right person’s attention.

After all, who wouldn’t want … me?

Well, as it turns out: them.

They didn’t want me.

And once again — it really had nothing to do with me.


Sometimes, you choose the one that doesn’t want to be chosen — the one that can’t (or won’t) choose you back.

I’ve learned that fixating on a rigid endgame (Being loved by THIS guy! Getting onto THIS show! Being THIS weight! Selling THIS many books by THIS date!) is a definite path to disappointment. Don’t do it.

Instead, reframe the request.

Try this:

“Hey, Universe:

I’m ready to receive exactly what I want.

I will also accept … a different flavor. Or something better.

Your call. Surprise me.”

Here’s to sweet release …