Let me begin this week’s newsletter with a confession: Something’s been on my mind these past few days.
I’m currently planning my second extended trip to Thailand this year, and am in the process of reaching out to friends to see if they’d have time for a meal.
I have a list of Bangkok-based people to schedule meet-ups with on my phone—people I used to regularly hang out with while living in Bangkok, people I know with a certain degree of confidence would want to catch up with me when I’m in town. Each time I’m in Bangkok, I turn to the list and tick off the people on it one by one—dinner, check; lunch, check; breakfast, check.
But this time around, I’m doing something different. I’m reaching out to a handful of people not on the list—old friends I’d like to reconnect with—and this is what’s been on my mind.
To be frank, it’s more than on my mind. It’s an all-consuming fire that’s ablaze in my skull, filling any room I’m in with fumes of anxiety.
The price to pay
I went to the same school for the first 13 years of my student life. And for most of those years, I was really good friends with a bunch of girls. This was a period of my life when I still bought into the idea of “BFFs,” and I was convinced that these girls were mine for life.
But then I went to study abroad, and—surprise—we lost touch. The girls continued to deepen their friendship, and the stronger their bond got, the more of an outsider I became. They went on to become BFFs for life while I faded into a distant memory.
Some years back, one of the girls got married. I was very happily surprised when she warmly invited me to her wedding. But I was out of town that day, and that declined wedding invitation became a missed opportunity to reconnect.
A few days ago, I mustered up all the courage I could and sent the girls a group message on Facebook: Hey, I’m going to be in town and would love to meet you guys for dinner if you’re up for it? It’s been such a long time.
And that cold invitation has weighed on my mind ever since. Why? Because I’m shit scared none of them would respond. I’m scared that I’d be rejected, that they’d take one look at my unprompted invitation and think: Actually, I don’t want to see you. I have no interest in rekindling our friendship.
By reaching out to these girls, I opened myself up to rejection. As things stand, I don’t know if they still have any interest in being my friend. Our friendship is like Schrödinger's cat, alive and dead at the same time until I open the box.
I had a choice: continue in blissful ignorance or find out once and for all and risk rejection. Choose ignorance, and our friendship would forever continue to be a hypothetical. Choose to open the box, and I’ll either be hurt or get to reconnect with old friends I cherish.
I chose the latter, and a possible rejection was my price to pay.1
Everything worth having
This whole episode got me thinking how all the things worth having in life come with a price tag. To get what you really want—be it your years-long crush or a big raise—you have to put yourself in a situation where you might get rejected.
Asking for that cutie’s number to have them smile and make up an excuse to leave
Asking someone you met at a networking event to pass on your CV for a role you think you’re perfect for at their company, and they tell you to submit your CV on the website
Asking your boss for a promotion and they say you don’t deserve one
Saying “I love you” first and the love of your life doesn’t say it back
You’ll never get what you want if you don’t ask for it, and asking for it introduces the possibility of rejection. What’s more, the more you want the thing in question, the more the rejection’s going to hurt.
But if you never ask, then the thing you want will forever remain in Schrödinger's box, yours and not yours at the same time.
What do you think?
So, the question becomes:
Are you willing to pay the price?
Are you willing to put yourself out there, go out on a limb, risk rejection to get what you really want? What are you willing to do that for?
Send a reply, leave a comment, share this with someone who’s always willing to pay the price.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val
Photo by Drahomír Posteby-Mach on Unsplash
It’s been over a week since my cold invitation went out, and I’m very pleased to report that I did get a response and a dinner with the whole gang is in my calendar. This in no way guarantees the dinner will be a smashing success, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to reconnect.
I think in this context, the price to pay is rejection of our identity. We might be scared and think we have to pay the price of rejection maybe because we were not accepted from other aspects of our life. And that certain environments that we are in like family or culture didn't allow failures as the norm. Just because they are afraid with their own expectations.
I think the price to pay is more of facing a reality check on our own expectations and identity.