Life giving you lemons? Thank God.

The choice is yours. Life offers us plenty of raw material. Sometimes its lemons.

The end product is what you make of it, though. Pie. Lemon bars. Lemonade. A zinger for hot tea. Or just a lemon.

One of my six sisters, who shall remain nameless if only to keep her off her dentist’s radar, digs gnawing raw lemon peel. And, no, she’s not a borderline rickets case. She’s just into lemons. Go figure. I have a knack for turning the yellow darlings into landfill as they always grow furry stuff when bagged and stuffed in a corner on the counter. (But hey, compost allows us to grow things we like to eat or look at. My roses give me great pleasure.)

You get the idea.

Yesterday, life gave me a lovely smack upside the head. It wasn’t a lemon, but a delightfully generic rejection that, in truth, is a godsend wakeup call. (Yes, I did go through a bout of the lollies yesterday. That’s lollying around looking for some sugared treat to take the edge off. A beer sufficed and a good rag fest that is better not indulged.  At least not today.)

STOP TRYING TO FIT IN.

That’s the message. Being true to oneself, one’s voice, strengths, calling, etc. is where it’s at. Life is short and hard enough as it is, more so when you’re trying to be something you’re not. My writing buddies—thank you Ashley, Jade, Heather, Suzanne, Nico, Shaen, Cheryl, and Patrice—have been trying to tell me this for how long I’m not saying. My kids, too. My husband, too.

But who listens to them? Husbands I mean.

Anyway, I’m done trying to tailor my voice to fit a tone that, if I’m honest, makes me wince. I deserved that dirt bag email filled with all manner of generic could-be reasons that may not be the real reason my project was rejected. Who cares what the reason was?

I should be doing a happy dance at the Governor’s reprieve I received. Down on my knees saying thank you.

Just think. If I’d landed a contract with a firm whose message and tone doesn’t click with my life, my sentiments, my spirit, you all would be subject to a really fun time as I lamented all the toning down I’d have to do since contracts were signed. It’d be like big Sis shoving lemon rinds down my throat, telling me to smile and chew on deadline. Forget the number it would do on my teeth, I’d have a real problem with that.

God is good, people.

Rejections are good, too!

Write on…