H'lo there...

When I was a kid, my parents declared me "too sensitive."

"You're too sensitive" often followed "I was just kidding" and preceded "Get over it." Mom and dad weren't mean, really; they just had very little tolerance for emotion.

Unfortunately, "too sensitive" still follows me around today. I pretty regularly gaslight myself into thinking I'm overreacting. And with the exception of righteous indignation and enthusiasm for friends' successes, I avoid public displays of emotion.

That's not to say I'm not an emotional person. I am. I just don't care to emote out loud, and I've developed a specific coping strategy to avoid doing so.

When I feel myself getting worked up, I... sing the SpongeBob Squarepants theme song in my head. Weird, I know. But also quite effective.

I'm bringing this up because on Tuesday I had a too-sensitive moment in the middle of Hygge, a local smoothie bowl place, and I wanted to tell you about it.

Long-story-short: I'm working on opening a bookstore—an adventure that requires a staggering amount of start-up cha-ching. Several weeks ago, Prince Jack (the hubs) asked someone to consider lending said cha-ching to me... and we still don't have an answer.

There's no yes. But there's also no no.

And let me tell you how comfortable I am in liminal space. (Narrator: She is not at all comfortable in liminal space.)

So anyhoo, I have my spoon in an acai bowl and I've just taken a bite of a protein ball when my leasing agent texts me: "Any word from your investor?"

Suddenly, I'm blinking back tears.

🎵 Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? Sponge... Bob... Square... Pants. 🎵

Leasing Agent: "The minute we submit this Letter of Intent, the landlord's going to ask about your funding."

🎵 Absorbent and yellow and porous is he. 🎵

See, up until then, I'd been winning the "no news doesn't mean bad news" game. And then suddenly I wasn't.

I texted Prince Jack: "I'm assuming you haven't heard from (investor)?"

🎵 If nautical nonsense be something you wish... 🎵

Prince Jack: "He's still waiting for his financial people to get back to him."

🎵 Then drop on the deck and flop like a fish. 🎵

Me: "So you're saying there's a chance."

Pep Talk #049: It could still happen.
When you want something really, really badly and it's even a little bit outside of your control, it can be excrutiating to wait.

But don't lose hope. It could still happen.

Here's the thing, though: The Universe (or whatever) is keeping an eye and you. You've got to show that you're still in the thing even when the thing is really damn hard and discouraging. Keep working. Keep dreaming. Keep doing.

It could still happen. Because you're gonna make it happen.

Get it,
Kelley

P.S. Hygge is a Danish word that means "cozy" or "contented." The irony is not lost on me, given that I felt neither cozy not contented that day.

P.P.S. I wrote this email last night—about an hour before I learned that my funding proposal's been denied. This moment was no match for SpongeBob, so I locked myself in my closet and had an ugly cry. And although while my eyeballs are leaking again as I type, I'm back on the "It could still happen" train. The Universe has no idea just how pathologically determined I am.

P.P.S. H/T to Dan Cumberland for "pathological determination."

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