When I first tried to break into the public relations business I was willing to accept any position -- anything in communication, journalism, advertising, marketing, PR or almost any related field. I just wanted to get a foot in the door.
I had no special contacts, no mentors, no influential somebodies to help me -- just my wits and the talent I knew I possessed.
I replied to countless job announcements. In the days of snail mail and print-on-paper, I sent out pages and pages of cover letters and resumés. And trust me, I wrote a damned good cover letter. And I also usually included zippy examples of my writing. In the process, I actually garnered a fair share of in person interviews.
And, it was all for naught.
One by one, I reaped more than 200 rejection letters -- some nicely written and some just this side of abrupt -- but all with one, big bottom line: NO!
Interestingly enough, most of these letters arrived on a Friday. I suspect organizations timed them this way so you could not call and attempt to find out exactly why you were rejected or what you might have done differently to get the job. Whatever the reason, these letters spoiled many a weekend.
And I never got used to the rejections. Never!
Because, whether we admit it or not, rejection hurts and there's no way to sugar coat it. And it hurts even more when you're young and first trying to make your way in the world. You can become dispirited. But I did not.
Here's how I handed it -- I kept every letter. And I remembered the organizations and even some of the very people who rejected me. "These are the slings and arrows, the scars that will make you stronger." I told myself. "You'll show 'em!"
And I really was determined to show these organizations and these persons how wrong they were to brush me aside. This now became my motivator.
Many decades later, I still have all the letters. Looking through them I see the letterheads of once big and powerful corporations that are no more; newspaper entities and broadcasting outlets that went belly up, advertising agencies that shuttered; public interest groups and non profits that never reached their potential; educational institutions that disappeared. And even many of the letter writers are dead. They're all gone.
But I'm still here. I had the good fortune to eventually land a "sweet spot" job with a rock solid entity that appreciated my talents and paid me well for nearly 30 years. Today, I'm still communicating, still writing, still plying my trade, but now on my own terms and in my own way. This is my craft. And I'm damned proud of it and what I've accomplished over the years.
Along the way, I've long since forgotten whether or not I "showed 'em" or whether they even bothered to notice. It mattered less and less as the years went by and I delighted in the opportunity I was given to apply my God given talents and advance my career. I loved my work, and still do!
And, yes -- I eventually was put in a position of responsibility where I had to tell job seekers "sorry, not this time."
Here's how I did it: I always sent my letter (I never used e-mails for this purpose) early in the week so as not to arrive on a Friday and I always ended my letter with this: "If you'd like to chat with me about this you can call me at any time. I wish you the best!" Some aspirants did call and I always tried to give them constructive criticism where appropriate and/or offer my assistance in their ongoing job quest.
A postscript: Today, I finally tossed all the rejection letters -- after I rifled through them one last time and took the photo you see at the top which gives this instructive collection one last moment of dubious glory. Arrivederci!
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