Rejection Proof: How I Beat Fear and Became Invincible Through 100 Days of Rejection

by Jia Jiang

  With “big setups,” rejectors spend a long time explaining the reason for their rejection before they actually deliver it. Companies are notoriously good at this.

  In July 2014, Microsoft laid off 12,500 employees from its Nokia mobile phone division. To deliver the bad news to his employees, the head of the division, Stephen Elop, sent employees an eleven-hundred-word memo.

  Elop began the memo casually with “Hello there.” Then he spent ten paragraphs explaining Microsoft’s new strategy, plan, and focus, the iconic nature of its products, the shifts in market, and the needs to selectively “right-size” the company.

  Finally, in paragraph 11, Elop delivered the bad news:

  “We plan that this would result in an estimated reduction of 12,500 factory direct and professional employees over the next year. These decisions are difficult for the team, and we plan to support departing team members with severance benefits.”

  I believe Elop had the right intention—to soften the blow of the layoff, which is among the worst professional rejections. But as successful as Elop had been as a corporate executive, he was afraid to give a straightforward rejection. So he painstakingly used reason and logic to set up the news, perhaps hoping the employees would be so convinced by the time they read the bad news that the blow would be lessened.

  If Elop’s goal was to use the memo to set up a smooth mass layoff, it didn’t work. The laid-off employees didn’t gush over Elop’s essay. Instead, hundreds of them set up some very ugly protests.

  Layoffs happen all the time. But Elop’s approach caused a PR nightmare. The media took the memo public, writing stories with headlines like “Microsoft Lays Off Thousands with Bad Memo” and “How Not to Cut 12,500 Jobs: A Lesson from Microsoft’s Stephen Elop.”

  —

  The second form of indirect rejection is even more frustrating. “Yes-buts” happen when the rejector verbally acknowledges or even validates a request, then uses the word but or unfortunately to deliver the rejection.

  Who hasn’t called a customer support number, only to hear something like: “Yes, I understand that you are frustrated with these extra fees, and you want them to be taken off. And we value your business and try to provide the best service possible. Unfortunately, we are unable to accommodate your request at this time.”

  “Yes-but” rejectors seem as if they are being polite and acknowledging the other person’s concerns and frustrations. Yet the word but—and especially the word unfortunately—totally undermine the rejector’s good intentions. Apple considers the word unfortunately so detrimental in customer service that employees (or “geniuses”) at the famously customer-focused Apple Stores are banned from using it when talking to customers.

  In his book Conversation Transformation, organizational consultant Ben E. Benjamin (that’s his actual name) discusses the danger of “yes-buts.” Not only do they send mixed messages, he says, but also they make the idea difficult for the rejectee’s brain to process and could elicit a defensive response.

  Last, when a rejector starts a sentence with “Yes, it is true that…,” “Yes, I understand that…,” or “Yes, I know that…,” the rejectee already senses that a “but” or an “unfortunately” is coming. He or she then ignores everything the rejector is saying, painfully anticipating the upcoming rejection and even forming a response.

  When you deliver a rejection to someone, give the bad news quickly and directly. You can add the reasons afterward, if the other person wants to listen. No one enjoys rejection, but people particularly hate big setups and “yes-buts.” They don’t lessen the blow—in fact, they often do quite the opposite.

  OFFER ALTERNATIVES

  100 DAYS OF REJECTION: SPEAKING OVER COSTCO’S INTERCOM

  I was shopping at a store with my family one day when a voice came on over the intercom. “Attention, shoppers, the store will be closing in five minutes; please bring your cart to the front.” Knee-deep in my rejection journey at the time, I was looking for every opportunity to make a rejection request. I immediately knew what I wanted to try next.

  The next time I went to a store, I told a random employee that I’d like to use the store’s intercom system to make an announcement. She immediately referred me to the store manager, a middle-aged man named Robert. When I told him what I wanted—basically, for him to let me praise the store for its fabulous service over the loudspeaker—he looked at me closely, as if assessing whether or not I was serious.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t,” he said. “We aren’t allowed to.”

  I showed him my membership card. “I have spent thousands of dollars here,” I told him. “There is no downside for you, really. If you say yes, everyone here will be happy.” As speeches go, this was a little dramatic, but it was a throw-in-the-kitchen-sink moment. I could feel Robert slipping away.

  He looked at me and shook his head. “Listen, I would love to do it, believe me. But unfortunately I can’t.”

  But then, rather than walking away, Robert surprised me. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  It was my turn to be confused. I stood there, not knowing what to say.

  “Come on, I will buy dinner for you and your family,” he said.

  Then he walked over with me to the food court. “Give him whatever he wants,” he told the clerk, adding that it was for “member satisfaction.”

  After I ordered a pizza and a hot dog, Robert explained that he had really wanted to say yes, because he thought word-of-mouth marketing was the best kind of advertising. He said that while the company wouldn’t allow a customer to speak over the intercom, it did have a membership magazine that would probably love to hear my story.

  I opted to tell the story on my blog rather than share it in the magazine. But I appreciated Robert’s attempt to come up with an alternative to my desired intercom moment. A few weeks later, after posting the Costco video to my blog, I went back to the store. Robert spotted me and came over to shake my hand. Quite a few shoppers had seen the hidden video, he said, and had stopped him in the store to say hi. I was happy that my blog post gave him the opportunity to be appreciated by customers. He deserved it.

  —

  The Costco rejection attempt not only gave me a full stomach, but also taught me a great way to reject someone: by offering an alternative. Robert could have just said no. Instead, he was patient and respectful and gave me real reasons for his no. Notice here that he did give me a yes—but with the word unfortunately. But then he offered a free dinner that I hadn’t even asked for. How could I not be a fan of Robert and Costco after that?

  Jordan at 24 Hour Fitness also offered me an alternative by directing me to his friend’s gym. So had the gray-haired man who didn’t want a rosebush in his yard, by sending me to someone who ultimately loved the offer.

  These examples have something else in common—something very important. In each case, the person rejecting me was making it clear that he was rejecting my request—not rejecting me as a person. It can be hard, once you’re rejected, to separate the two. In fact, one of the reasons people hate rejection so much is because they can’t actually draw this distinction in their minds. They can’t separate the rejection from who they are as a person. It takes practice and conscious thinking to separate the two and not take things personally.

  However, by offering alternatives when rejecting someone, the rejector does this job on behalf of the rejectee. He or she is really saying, “Sorry, I can’t do what you want, but it’s really not because I don’t trust or like you.”

  Rejection is a deeply personal experience, no matter who you are or what you have invested in the answer. So when you are rejecting something, you have to be specific. Make sure the person knows what exactly you’re turning down, and be honest about the reasons why. This will save everyone a lot of time, trouble, and heartbreak.

  LESSONS

  1. Patience and Respect: Rejection is usually a hard message. Delivering the message with the right attitude can go a long way to soften the blow. Never
belittle the rejectee.

  2. Be Direct: When giving a rejection, present the reason after the rejection. Avoid long and convoluted setup and reasoning.

  3. Offer Alternatives: By offering alternatives to get a yes, or even simple concessions, one can make the other person a fan even in rejection.

  CHAPTER 9

  FINDING UPSIDE

  One of my favorite poets is Lu You. Born in China in AD 1125, Lu was a child prodigy with an uncanny writing talent who started crafting poems at age twelve. When he was twenty-nine, he took first place in the Imperial Exam, a national standardized test given once every three years. In ancient China, the Imperial Exam was a big deal. The highest scorer usually became the emperor’s favorite new cabinet member. Winning the exam could transform the fate of a person and his family for generations to come.

  When Lu took first place, it seemed like he was headed for a life of power, wealth, and glory. But there was one problem. On the exam, Lu placed one spot higher than the grandson of Qin Hui—the most corrupt and powerful government official in the country and perhaps the most infamous in Chinese history. Qin was enraged that someone could dare to score higher than his beloved grandson. So he used his influence to remove Lu’s name from the final ranking.

  While Qin managed to block Lu’s victory, he could not stop his writing. Over the years, Lu continued to write poems that expressed his ambitions and aspirations for the country. His writings became so influential and celebrated that they eventually caught the attention of the emperor, who granted Lu the cabinet position he had always desired.

  But Lu’s story didn’t end there. Soon, the problem of being “too good” once again changed Lu’s fate. His intolerance for corruption and his tough foreign policy stance didn’t sit well with many established government officials. They ostracized him and spread rumors to impugn his character. Eventually the emperor turned on Lu as well, removing him from his cabinet.

  Again jobless and disappointed, Lu went back to the countryside and picked up his pen. His writings about patriotism and rejection during this period became some of the most influential in Chinese literary history. His beautiful ways of capturing the pain of rejection—and the discovery of hope—are part of what drew me to his work.

  One line in particular kept coming back to me throughout my 100 Days of Rejection: “After endless mountains and rivers that leave doubt whether there is a path out, suddenly one encounters the shade of a willow, bright flowers, and lovely village.”* It was a parable about the ups, the downs, and the breathtaking discoveries Lu encountered in his own life.

  Friedrich Nietzsche famously wrote: “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” This is very true when it comes to rejection. Everyone gets rejected countless times over the course of their lifetime. Ultimately, few if any of these rejections will prove life-threatening or fate-altering. Yet nearly every one of them offers us an opportunity to grow, to challenge ourselves, and to overcome the fears and insecurities that block us from meeting our full potential. Indeed, one of the greatest lessons of my journey was that any rejection can have hidden upsides, if only we are willing to look for them.

  MOTIVATION

  One of the biggest upsides of rejection is that it can serve as motivation. And for me, the motivation came early.

  My first big rejection came in elementary school.

  My teacher, Ms. Qi, was full of love and genuinely cared about all her students. One day, she planned a big party for us. She bought all forty of us gifts, which she carefully wrapped and displayed at the front of classroom. During the party, Ms. Qi had all of us stand together in front of the room. One by one, each of us was supposed to offer another student a compliment. The student who received the compliment could then pick out a gift and go back to his or her seat. It was a thoughtful idea. What could possibly go wrong?

  Standing in the group, I gave my heartiest cheers each time someone received a compliment and picked up his or her gift. Eventually, the group started to thin, and I was still standing there. My cheers became less and less enthusiastic, and gradually my joy turned into worry. Why hadn’t anyone raised their hand and said something nice about me?

  Then the group became really thin, and my worry sharpened into fear. There were just three students left—two unpopular kids nobody liked, and me. Everyone else was back in their seats, holding gifts wrapped in shiny paper. The three of us just stood there, and none of the other kids raised their hands.

  Again and again, Ms. Qi asked—even implored—the class to offer us some praise, or just say anything, so she could get us off the platform that felt like a guillotine. Tears ran down my face, and I felt I’d rather die than remain standing there. Before that moment, I hadn’t known I was that unpopular. But looking at who was standing beside me, I knew then.

  Mercifully, Ms. Qi ended the horror show and asked us to pick up a gift and sit back down. I was too little to imagine what must have been going through her caring and gentle mind, having unknowingly turned a morale-building exercise into a public roasting of three kids without the appropriate comedy. Today, I feel worse for her than I did at that moment for myself, because she must have felt terrible for what she had accidentally set in motion.

  This type of humiliation could leave a dark mark on a person in some way, especially a young kid like me. It could have changed who I was in ways that weren’t good. I could have started trying harder to be accepted by everyone, and shaped my personality and interests to everyone’s liking, in the hopes that conformity could prevent this type of traumatic rejection from happening again. Or I could have turned the tables and started hating everyone and the world. I could have become a bitter loner of the type causing a lot of tragic headlines nowadays.

  Luckily, I chose a third route. Rather than feel humiliated by how different I was from the other kids, I embraced it. Standing in front of my classmates, none of whom would stick up for me, didn’t make me feel vengeful. It made me want to prove everyone wrong about me—and show them who I really was.

  In a strange way the experience also made me feel…special. From a very early age, I felt like I wasn’t like everybody else. I didn’t even want to be like everybody else. I wanted to find my own path. It’s why I’ve always been drawn to figures like Thomas Edison and Bill Gates and other trailblazers who don’t fit into neat molds. It’s also why, over the years, whenever I’ve gone down a road that was different from the more conventional paths of my sixth-grade classmates—whether it was moving to America, going to college, or even having success with my blog—I always look back at that rejection with gratitude.

  —

  I learned something critical that day, though I didn’t know it at the time and wouldn’t really discover it until I started my rejection journey. What I learned is this: rejection is an experience that it is up to you to define. In other words, it means only what you choose it to mean. The relationship you have with a rejection can be negative or positive, and it all depends on which way you spin it for yourself.

  Some people are extremely good at turning rejection into a positive, even if the rejection itself still feels awful. They use the experience of rejection to strengthen and motivate themselves. Just ask Michael Jordan.

  The speeches given at award ceremonies are usually heartfelt outpourings filled with thank-yous to families and supporters. They are usually emotional—and often a little boring. But Michael Jordan’s 2009 Basketball Hall of Fame induction speech was anything but boring. In fact, it was unlike anything I’ve ever heard.

  Over the span of twenty-three minutes, Jordan methodically listed every personal rejection he’d ever experienced in his career and explained how much it had fueled him—from his high school coach not picking him for the varsity team to his college roommate being named Carolina Player of the Year instead of him; from the opponent’s coach who prohibited his team from fraternizing with Jordan to the media naysayers who claimed he wasn’t as talented as Magic Johnson or Larry Bird. Jordan’s speech reveal
ed a side of him that his carefully crafted PR image had successfully hidden from the world—how he consistently used rejection as motivation during his career and even into retirement.

  Jordan said that each rejection had “put so much wood on that fire that it kept me, each and every day, trying to get better as a basketball player…. For someone like me, who achieved a lot over the course of my career, you look for any kind of messages that people may say or do to get you motivated to play the game of basketball at the highest level, because that is when I feel like I excel at my best.”

  Jordan is not alone. The more I looked into it, the more I was astonished by how many—and how often—successful people convert rejection into personal fuel.

  • Quarterback Tom Brady was passed over 198 times in the 2000 NFL draft before finally being selected by the New England Patriots. He had already left the draft party dejected and crying. Brady has since become one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time, winning three Super Bowls and counting. He frequently cites his draft experience as part of what motivated him to succeed in the NFL and prove his worth to the teams that rejected him.

  • An adopted child, Apple founder Steve Jobs was told by a playmate that he was unwanted and abandoned. According to his biographer Walter Isaacson, Jobs was deeply shaken by the comment, saying that “lightning bolts went off in my head. I remember running into the house. I think I was crying.” After his parents assured him that they specifically selected him as their son, he realized that “I was not just abandoned. I was chosen. I was special.” This shift in perspective became a core belief that helped drive him to unprecedented creative heights.