My dog wags her tail whenever I say no.

Bingo is a rescue, and I’ll never know where she picked up the idea that “no” means “yes,” but it’s about as annoying as you’d imagine when you’re trying to get her to stop eating poop , for example. On the other hand, she’s the happiest creature I’ve ever met. So at the end of 2017, I wondered what my life would be like if I could turn no into yes, and I made it my 2018 New Year’s resolution to get 100 professional rejections.

If 100 seems absurd, recall all those stats about how today’s young adults are essentially rejection magnets: We change jobs and careers more frequently than ever before, are more likely to rely on the gig economy, relocate more and need new friends in those new cities, and we’re marrying later. It feels as if the only constant is change, and that means we’re forever at the whim of other people’s judgments, opinions and decisions. It’s unsettling at best. At worst, it’s crippling.

My particular treacherous path is as a writer and comedian. My gigs tend to be short, and I’m at the mercy of “right place, right time.” I can send off a great script or writing packet, or have a killer set at a packed stand-up show, but if the decision maker happens to be grumpy, or is in the bathroom during my set, or already read a similar submission, or is pals with another candidate, or thinks my look isn’t trending, or used to date someone with a similar name, or thinks I’m too old, or too young, or too liberal, or too conservative, or gets laid off right before she intended to hire me, I’m back to square one, wondering what I did wrong.

As 2018 began, though, I felt empowered by the knowledge that turning my failures into accomplishments would mean I’d be gaming the system. Both acceptances and rejections would count as a sort of win, and I liked those odds.