Of course, the wiser part of me knows this is a recipe for disaster (or at least disappointment). But sometimes the id screams like a toddler being forcibly removed from the toy aisle and the hubris of me insisting on doing things my way prevails.

But in saner moments, I realize that I simply need to catch the dreams and ideas that come to me, give ‘em some love, take a few action steps…and then release the trajectory of their manifestation to God.

My best friend recently gave me one of the most beautifully thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received: a very cool replica of an old school drive-in theater speaker. Her note said:

“To remind you that you are a screenwriter and filmmaker. Regardless of the fact that it may not look like what you thought it would.”

I was touched not only by her belief in my work, but how spot-on she was about the fact that our desires don’t always come to us in neat little packages designed by our imaginations.

Ever since I fell in love with screenwriting in college, I pictured that my films would one day end up with one of the big studios.  (Granted, this was when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and before everything was available on YouTube…but I digress…). My producing partner Curt Apduhan and I tried for years to get into the Hollywood club. Curt is an Emmy award-winning cinematographer, who has worked with a lot of famous people who are well-entrenched in the studio system. But even with his personal and professional connections, we always seemed to get thisclose with one of our scripts, and then…crickets.

Finally, we decided that it was time to stop wasting time courting approval and just make a movie on our own. Even if it wasn’t a full-length feature backed by millions of dollars and starring a household name, it was still tangible proof that we knew how to write and produce something screen-worthy.

So, we shot our first short film, “Anniversary” with an amazing cast of three in a friend’s home (whose living room was miraculously transformed by our set designer into a hotel suite). We were on a shoestring budget, but everyone involved gave so generously of their time and talent that we ended up with a beautiful film that was very well-received at several festivals in the U.K.

We may still make it to Hollywood one day. Or maybe not. But I will never forget the thought that came to me as I stood on set for the first time and watched the actors say my words:

“I don’t know if I could be any happier if this were being played out on a giant soundstage or a glamorous location. I love filmmaking, period. I just want to be in the game.”

And as of this writing, I still am. Another short film produced and screened at festivals last year, and one more in the works that will be expanded to a feature. At least that’s the plan.

(I know, I know…cue the “we plan, God laughs” jokes.)

But I’ve done my best to catch and cultivate the dreams that come to me. Now begins the continual process of prying my fingers off of the steering wheel.

Time to let the Divine do the driving.

I remember my last night as a grade-schooler, unable to sleep as I pondered my upcoming first day on the big bad junior high campus. Instead of the same familiar pack of munchkins I’d been running with since kindergarten, I’d now be forced to meet an entire legion of new students.

And I was terrified.

In the midst of my angst, I actually had the thought, “I wish I could wake up famous tomorrow. Then everyone would already know and like me.”

I was absolutely convinced that if I were Brooke Shields (the gold standard of teen stardom at the time), I wouldn’t have to face the awkwardness of trying to fit in, saying something idiotic or just flat-out being disliked.

Thankfully, I outgrew the naïve notion that “recognition = adoration” long before the internet and social media took public scrutiny to a stratospheric level.

And while it’s tempting to complain about the TMZ-style world we live in today, there is a proverbial silver lining to the often-moronic tidal wave of reality show starlets, viral videos and vitriolic rants:

It’s proof that the gatekeepers are done for good.

And so is your excuse for remaining invisible.

You no longer have to genuflect in the presence of movie studios, radio stations or art galleries, begging them to anoint you as a legitimate artist.

But as the barriers that keep your work from being shared with the world dissolve, so do the walls that keep you shielded from criticism that ranges from the mildly disheartening (actual review for my first short film: “That’s 20 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.”) to aggressively hateful.

The fact is, if you’ve got something to offer the world, you’re going to have to deal with online trolls who are more than happy to announce that your novel was apparently written by an orangutan with a MacBook Pro and your abstract canvas looks like a sewage explosion.

And I’ve found the best way to handle the hate is to have empathy for those that dish it out.

No, I did not misspell “Twitter war.” I actually do mean empathy.

And here’s why.

These are people that have opted to spend their precious time and energy on a mission to seek and destroy. And their target isn’t something they despise, but rather something they desperately wish they had:

The courage to offer their gifts to the world, and to keep on doing it, whether the response is kudos or condemnation. 

Your book, film, blog or painting may not be their cup of tea. But the fact that they opt to attack – rather than simply ignore – your creation signals a human being burdened by regrets and hammered by creative Resistance.

Someone imprisoned by fear of failure, success, or both.

Simultaneously facing the dread of taking – or not taking – that first step toward a dream.

And in my book, living that way is suffering enough.

So, the next time snarky or scathing words are lobbed at you, consider the source.

Allow yourself a moment to be angry, annoyed or even amused.

Then let it go.

And give thanks.

Because you, too, could be hiding behind a screen name instead of making a name for yourself.

Think about that. I mean, really let it sink in.

If you have a book, film, artistic work or even a simple bumper sticker-sized message to share with the world, no one will physically prevent you from putting it out there.

You can proclaim your faith – or lack thereof – and you won’t be thrown in prison.

You can champion a cause that sears your soul. At the top of your lungs, and in broad daylight.

So, in honor of this privilege, it’s time to realize that “just add water” is only a good directive for condensed soup and Chia Pets. Not so much when it comes to speaking your personal truth.

I know I’ve been guilty of taking this blessing for granted. Keeping quiet because I didn’t want to rock any boats, hurt any feelings or alienate anyone.

But that got me nowhere.

By trying to be something to everyone, I was nothing to anyone.

So, here’s the truth about me.

I’m not  a regular churchgoer, but I have a deep and abiding faith in a personal God who loves each one of us. And I believe that if people followed the principles of unconditional love, acceptance and service to others that Jesus taught, the world would be a better place.

I can also be very “woo-woo” and constantly marvel at the energy-based universe that God created. It makes perfect sense to me to not only observe how He works with those energies, but to learn to work with them ourselves in order to elevate our minds and live our best lives.

I’m a dedicated vegetarian, but you can still invite me to your barbecue without fear of a lecture on how your burger was once Bessie the cow. I hate soapboxes, so I do my damndest to stay off of them.

If you want me to run screaming from the room, mention the latest weight loss fad.

I vote because it is a right and a privilege that people have fought and died for us to have. But I have zero faith that any elected official has a significant effect on whether or not I get to live an incredible and abundant life.

I believe that if you want to kick some ass, you have to stop waiting for pats on the head.

My three least favorite words in the English language are: “It’s too late.”

I’ve been known to break my own “no-soapbox” rule when I hear those three words come out of the mouth of someone I care about (or even a complete stranger). My thought process is simple: Are you breathing? Good. Then there’s still time to (fill in the blank with embarrassingly audacious dream you refuse to acknowledge to yourself or the world).

Author Sarah Ban Breathnach sums it up beautifully:

“The authentic self is the soul made visible.”

Notice she didn’t say “the soul made perfect” or “the soul made for mass appeal.”

She said “visible.”

Yes, visibility is scary. But definitely worth it.

Think about what it would be like to…

Be rid of the convoluted mental flow chart that tells you which persona to use for which occasion.

Receive the gift of being loved and respected for who you actually are.

Realize you’re going to be just fine if everyone on the planet doesn’t give you the aforementioned gift.

If revenge is a dish best served cold, then truth is one that’s best served raw.

So, let’s hear it. What’s real for you?

Share in the comments below. And everywhere else you get the chance.

Your truth is a treasure. Treat it accordingly.

I find it hilarious because – more often than I care to admit – I converse with my dogs like this after they’ve dug a hole to China in the backyard or treated the cat box like their personal snack bar. As they listen to me ranting in exasperation, I can see the thought bubbles forming above their canine noggins: “Oh, silly woman. If only you knew the joy of dirt flying in your face, or the delectable taste sensation of fresh cat turds. But alas, I shall let you continue in your blissful ignorance of the finer things in life.”

(Okay, so my dogs have ridiculous thought bubbles. They get it from their Mom.)

But as much as I’d prefer that they do what I tell them to (and I certainly don’t advocate harmful or destructive behavior)…I have to admit that perhaps there is some wisdom at work here.

I know, I know. Just hear me out.

In their doggie minds, they are perfectly content doing something that others don’t approve of. Sure, they’re not thrilled when their human companions try to dissuade them from what we see as less than savory passions.  But they don’t take it to heart.

Just like Ginger, they simply listen…filtering out all but the most essential knowledge.

So, how does this apply to us two-legged creatures?

Of course we all have to communicate with each other. And (hopefully) to truly hear what is being said.

But do we have to take in judgment, criticism and unsolicited advice…especially when it comes to the dreams we hold sacred?

When you’re told (oh-so-nicely) that perhaps a Plan B is in order.

When statistics are presented as gospel.

When disapproval threatens to push you towards derailment.

In those instances, I stand with Ginger.

Sometimes it’s not such a bad thing to be dog-eared.

But then they’re eliminated.  And I fall prey to the same insta-thought that nearly everyone else does:

“Well, they didn’t make it.  Back to obscurity.”

But really…says who?

Just because someone isn’t part of the national consciousness on the level of Kelly Clarkson or Carrie Underwood (two notorious talent show winners)…does that mean they’ve faded into anonymity?  That no one is appreciating their considerable gifts?  That the cube farm or children’s party gig is their ultimate destiny just because they didn’t take home some garish silver microphone trophy?

Not at all.

People are still hearing, seeing and loving them.  And just because this isn’t brought to my attention on a weekly basis via US Weekly or People doesn’t mean it’s not true.

So, where are they now? Living their dream.  That’s where.

And may we all follow their lead.

So when Amy told me that Audrey was singled out by a girl named Kale who whose sole mission was to turn the entire third grade against her, my heart sank.  In spite of Audrey’s best efforts to reach out, no one would break ranks and dare to be her friend.  And in typical mean girl fashion, everything from her hairstyle and clothes to her name was subject to ridicule.  (Note to self:  a chick named after a cruciferous vegetable is critiquing the name Audrey?)

Aside from plying her with her favorite nail polish and anything with sparkles on it, I wasn’t sure what I could do to cheer her up.  To ease the ache of wanting to belong, and being denied that for no apparent reason.  As much as I loved this kid, I realized that maybe I had nothing to offer.

But perhaps my dogs did.

And so, the following missive was dictated from the hearts of my mutts (and transcribed by me simply because I happen to have opposing thumbs and keyboard access):

Hi Audrey!

This morning at the park, when we were playing with all the other dogs, we started thinking about friendship (we also thought about chasing rabbits, stealing dog toys and how much we love bacon…but those are stories for another time). Anyway, back to friendship.  What makes someone (dog or human) a real friend?  From what we can figure out, it seems that these three things make up a real friend: 

• They love you, even if you have a bad hair day – There’s this poodle at the park that really needs to go to the groomer. But he’s got a great personality and always shares his toys, so who cares whether his curls are perfect? It’s what’s inside that counts.

• They love you, no matter what your name is – Spartacus, T-Bone, Brandy, Lucy Lu, Chase, Buddy…these are our dog park pals. We really don’t care what their humans call them. All we know is that they are fun to be with, and we would never give them up, no matter what!

• They love you, whether you’re close or far away – We are thankful for our Arizona friends (both 2 and 4 legged), but we also love and miss our friends who live in other places. We may not see them as much, but they are always in our hearts…just like you!

So, Miss Audrey…just know that you’ve got real friends in us.  We think you’re beautiful, smart, and funny (we still laugh about the time you crawled into our crate when you first came to visit!).  Anyone who is fortunate enough to receive the kindness that comes from that big heart of yours should consider themselves lucky.  We sure do.

All our love,
Devo & Ranger

I heard from Amy not long after I mailed the letter.  Kale and her merry band of brats were still giving Audrey a hard time.  But knowing she was loved and admired for who she is put a smile on her face.  And a brand new multi-colored, glittery manicure didn’t hurt, either.

(Yes, I sent the nail polish and sparkly stuff, too.  No sense giving up on the tried and true, right?)

A few months later, when the winners were announced (and none of them were me), I received my evaluation via email. I was nervous as I opened the document, but still eager to receive some encouragement from a pro. Instead, my eyes jumped immediately to these words:

“I kept waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever did.”

So much for Hollywood-ready.   Try dumpster-ready.

The rest of the review wasn’t much better, and it left me doubting not only my writing ability but my own judgment. Was I so delusional that what I thought was a solid story amounted to 120 pages of “nothing happening?”

So, after a brief stint of ignoring my writing in favor of a pity party, it was time to get over myself and get back to the page. Because the best way (for me, at least) to soothe the sting of rejection is to write past it. Leave it in the dust. One person’s “no thanks” isn’t the end of your writing life, nor proof that your talent is non-existent.

So, write on. And on. And on.

When have you had to write past rejection? How did you do it/handle it?