“To endure five years of rejection to get a job requires either a faith in oneself that borders on delusion, or a love of the work,” Bill Watterson once said during a rare public appearance at Kenyon College. For him, it wasn’t delusion; it was love. Love that fueled years of drawing comic strips without pay, only to finally create a cultural masterpiece: Calvin & Hobbes. Watterson’s story is one of quiet resilience, a commitment to craft, and an unwavering focus on what truly matters.

Rejection wasn’t a roadblock—it was a rite of passage.

As Watterson toiled away, unpaid and unnoticed, he realized something critical: the joy of creation lay in the work itself, not in external validation or commercial rewards.

When Calvin & Hobbes caught its big break, Watterson didn’t slow down. He leaned in with an intensity that bordered on the obsessive. Holed up in small-town Ohio, he devoted every ounce of his energy to pushing his creative limits. His routine was, by his own admission, unsustainable—but it allowed him to draw the strip exactly as he envisioned.

And what an impact it made. Calvin & Hobbes wasn’t just another comic strip; it was a lens into the complexities of childhood, imagination, and the human condition. Its success brought enormous commercial opportunities—merchandise, movies, toys, even offers from Hollywood heavyweights like Steven Spielberg. But Watterson turned them all down.

Why? Because the work, and the purity of its message, mattered more.

When Rejection Becomes a Gift

It’s easy to view rejection as failure. But for Watterson, it was the proving ground for his art. Without those years of solitude and struggle, Calvin & Hobbes might not have achieved its singular depth and originality.

In a way, rejection filtered out the distractions. It gave Watterson the space to discover what he truly loved and the discipline to sustain that love over years of relentless effort.

Walking Away on His Own Terms

Like The Beatles or Jerry Seinfeld, Watterson left at the peak of his powers. After 10 years and 3,160 strips, he retired the comic, choosing not to “run the wheels off” his creation. By doing so, he preserved its integrity, ensuring it remained a timeless piece of art.

Not everyone agreed with his decision. Critics argued that he left money and opportunities on the table. But as Watterson once explained, “The best art is done for the love of the work. Money is a consequence, not the driver.”

Lessons from Watterson’s Journey

Dedication and rejection are intertwined. The former gives you the strength to endure the latter, while the latter sharpens your purpose. If you love the work, rejection becomes a test—not of your talent, but of your willingness to persevere.

Watterson’s story reminds us that true success isn’t about chasing external rewards. It’s about creating something so meaningful that it continues to resonate long after you’ve walked away.

So, here’s to rejection—it may be the best thing that ever happens to you.