Day 364. Rejection count: 999.
I sat in my home office, journal open, laptop displaying the spreadsheet that had documented nearly a year of "no's." Tomorrow would mark exactly 365 days since I'd sent that first terrified email to Morrison Industries.
The symmetry was perfect. One year. One thousand rejections. One transformed life.
But rejection #1000 couldn't be ordinary. This wasn't just another tally mark – it was the culmination of everything I'd learned. It had to be special. It had to be impossible. It had to be worthy of the journey.
For weeks, I'd been brainstorming the perfect final rejection: - Ask the President for coffee (too cliché) - Propose to Jennifer at a stadium (too manipulative - and I actually wanted her to say yes someday) - Request to speak at the UN (too bureaucratic) - Ask Oprah to mentor me (too predictable)
Nothing felt right. Every idea was either too small for the moment or too big for the wrong reasons.
Then, three days before the deadline, clarity hit. The perfect rejection wasn't about going bigger – it was about coming full circle.
I called Mike. "I know what #1000 needs to be."
"Finally. What's the plan?"
"I'm going to ask Morrison Industries to acquire my company."
"You don't have a company."
"I will by tomorrow."
That night, I stayed up creating: - Business registration: Rejection Resilience Inc. - Mission: Teaching individuals and organizations to transform fear of failure into fuel for growth - Assets: My column, speaking engagements, workshop curriculum, and 999 rejections worth of data - Valuation: Ambitiously optimistic
It was audacious. Ridiculous. Perfect.
I crafted the proposal with everything I'd learned: - Opened with a story (our first interaction) - Built emotional connection (how their initial response had launched my journey) - Presented clear value (corporate resilience training based on real experience) - Made a specific ask (acquisition for $2 million) - Included easy out (or we could start with a pilot program)
On Day 365, I walked into Morrison Industries' headquarters. Same building where I'd been too scared to send an email a year ago. This time, I walked straight to the executive floor.
"I have a 2 PM with Mr. Morrison," I told the receptionist.
"Regarding?"
"Rejection number 1000."
She looked confused but checked her calendar. "I don't see... wait, are you the rejection guy? He mentioned something about expecting you to show up eventually."
Twenty minutes later, I sat across from Richard Morrison himself. The man whose email address had paralyzed me for three weeks now felt like a colleague.
"So," he said, leaning back. "I hear you want me to buy your company."
"That's right."
"For two million dollars."
"Correct."
"A company that didn't exist yesterday."
"Actually, it's existed for exactly one year. I just formalized it yesterday."
He laughed. "Walk me through this."
I pitched for thirty minutes, using every skill the year had taught me: - Rapport building to create connection - Emotional granularity to gauge his reactions - Strategic thinking to position the value - Narrative mastery to make it memorable - Negotiation expertise to handle objections
When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment.
"That's the best worst pitch I've ever heard," he finally said. "No, I'm not buying your company for two million dollars. That's insane."
Rejection #1000. Emotional impact: 0/10.
I'd done it. One thousand rejections in 365 days. The arbitrary goal that had seemed impossible was complete.
But Morrison wasn't finished.
"However," he continued, "I am interested in the pilot program. We spend millions on corporate training that doesn't stick. Your approach – learning through actual experience rather than theory – could be valuable. Would you be willing to—"
"Richard," I interrupted. "I appreciate the interest. But can we just sit with the 'no' for a moment? This is rejection number 1000. It deserves its moment."
He looked at me strangely, then smiled. "You know what? You're right. Let's honor the no." He stood up, extended his hand. "David, it's been a pleasure rejecting your ridiculous proposal. Congratulations on achieving something I wouldn't have believed possible."
We shook hands. The moment felt ceremonial, like graduation.
"Now," he said, sitting back down. "Let's talk about that pilot program."
An hour later, I left with a contract for a six-figure corporate training program. My non-existent company had its first client. The rejection had, once again, become something else entirely.
That evening, Jennifer organized a surprise party. Mike, Sarah, my parents, Dr. Chen, even some people who'd rejected me along the way. A banner read: "Congratulations on 1000 Failures!"
"Speech!" someone shouted.
I stood in my living room, surrounded by people who'd watched me transform from someone terrified of rejection to someone who collected it like art.
"A year ago," I began, "I was so afraid of the word 'no' that I was saying it to myself before anyone else could. I was pre-rejecting my own life. This experiment was supposed to fix that fear through exposure therapy. Take the medicine enough times, build immunity.
"But that's not what happened. I didn't become immune to rejection – I became intimate with it. I learned that 'no' isn't a wall, it's a redirect. Every rejection taught me something, connected me to someone, or opened a door I didn't know existed.
"The thousand rejections weren't the point. They were the practice. The real achievement isn't that I can handle hearing 'no.' It's that I'm no longer afraid to hear 'yes.' Because yes means responsibility, commitment, showing up. And after a thousand rejections, I know I can handle whatever comes next.
"So here's to rejection #1000. And here's to never needing to count them again."
The room erupted in applause. My dad caught my eye and mouthed two words: "I'm proud." Not a full sentence, but progress.
Later that night, Jennifer and I sat on the couch reviewing the final statistics:
Final Rejection Tally: 1000 - Professional: 287 - Personal: 198 - Creative: 178 - Social: 156 - Financial: 112 - Wild Card: 69
Unexpected Acceptances: 247 Rejection-to-Opportunity Conversions: 73 Life-Changing Connections Made: 28 Average Emotional Impact: 3.2/10 Skills Developed: Invaluable
"So what now?" Jennifer asked. "Are you going to go for 2000?"
"No," I said, closing the journal for the last time. "I don't need to count anymore. The rejection muscle is built. Now I just get to use it."
"Use it for what?"
"Everything. The business. Writing. Speaking. Living. All the things I was too afraid to do before."
"And if people say no?"
I smiled. "Then they say no. And I'll say 'thank you for the rejection,' and move on to the next possibility. That's the real cure – not avoiding rejection, not surviving it, but seeing it as just another piece of information in a world full of opportunities."
She curled up against me. "You know what the best part is?"
"What?"
"You finally sent that email to Morrison Industries."
We laughed, remembering the paralyzed person I'd been 365 days ago, sitting in an office with an email he couldn't send.
That person felt like a stranger now. Or maybe an old friend I'd finally learned to leave behind.
Rejection #1000 was complete. But in truth, I'd stopped counting long ago. Somewhere around rejection #500, the number had ceased to matter. What mattered was who I'd become in the pursuit of an arbitrary goal.
The rejection cure wasn't about reaching 1000. It was about discovering that the only real rejection in life is the one you give yourself.
And that was one rejection I'd finally learned to stop accepting.
# Part IV: The Cure