Failure is inseparable from the human experience. Each day, we wake up, and go about our lives, and perhaps without much thought as to the impact that failure has had over us during a lifetime. It’s not a thought that is immediate, nor is it one that we often contemplate.
For many, failure is an aspect of life we wish to forget.
The failure of a class.
The failure of a project.
The failure of a relationship.
The failed marriage of our parents.
These are things that we try to keep seperate and at length from our everyday lives.
As the sun crests the horizon, morning breaks. Our alarms go off, signaling that it's time for us to start the day, to wake early, maybe earlier than most others, and to work on that paper, that post, that book that we’ve been planning on writing. Instead, we silence the alarm, and roll over for a few more precious minutes of sleep.
This, in itself, is a failure.
Yet, we don’t let it affect us in the manner that other failures, albeit larger, do. This act of “snoozing” the alarm become habit; an after thought of a morning routine.
The thing is, this small failure does matter. Should it be acknowledged, it could be actively pursued to correct it, if you’re one of those individuals who wishes to make the most of their day, but doesn’t seem to have enough time in it.
Within each of our failures lies the potential to learn. Aeschylus, a one of the early philosophers, said that: “He who learns must suffer.”
And I believe this.
Without suffering, which is a result of all failure, there is no learning. If the failure is not acknowledged, or if the individual simply feels that there is nothing to be lost in their life from the failure (which is a mindset that I think is unhealthy), then there will be nothing to be learned.
It’s been said that “ignorance is bliss,” and perhaps it is. I wouldn’t know. Or, if I did know at one time, I had long forgotten about it.
As a writer, I’ve learned to embrace each one of my failures. The rejections received from each submission I’ve saved, and some I’ve pinned along my wall as a reminder of the failure. It’s crucial, I believe, to acknowledge where you’ve failed in life, and, more specifically, in your art. The most dangerous thing for creation is success.
Of course, this may not hold true for everyone.
Years ago, I had my first collection of (bad) poetry published. It was a win. Out of all the rejects, all the failed poems, this one manuscript had landed an acceptance, and would come to fruition. When my book was released, I was in the middle of another project (this during a time when my art my the only focus of importance to me). Holding a physical copy brought joy, but something happened to me. All the moment I had for the project vanished. I found myself unable to create.
With the second manuscript already half finished, I willed myself to continue writing. It was a slog. All the words felt forced, as if they were teeth being pulled from my own mouth, one by one.
Eventually, I finished the manuscript. After months of struggle, it had been finalized. The joy that comes from completing any piece of work was there, but there was still little else.
So, with whatever energy I had left within me, I cleaned up the collection of poems, and sent it off to publishers during an open submission period.
Months later, I heard nothing but rejection. Rejection that, ultimately, came down to a failure on my part as the writer.
As I dwelled on my failures, those ranging from my youth to current, I felt angry. Angry, not at the world, not at my failures, but at myself for not acting upon those failures. I’ve never been the type of person to pursue. As a boy, I had no stake in life. The world turned, and that was that.
I’d not allowed myself to learn, truly learn, from my failures.
Nearly a year later, I’ve received more rejections for that manuscript, as well as individual pieces of work. A few state that I made it to final rounds of the submission process. That my work had generated great debate in the editorial department, but they decided to go with another piece. This is a failure, yes, but it’s a failure that I accept and carry with me. I learn from them. Work and rework my art, getting closer with each version to publication.
Though, admittedly, I fear publication. There’s a rabbit hole to success that, from what I’ve learned, can be creatively crippling for me. Yet, this is a byproduct of being an artist who wishes to actively engage with their community.
But the failure, and all that I’ve learned from each individual one, is where I place my faith in enabling me to get by unscathed.
We don’t give enough credit to our failures, which, at the end of the day, are what molded us into the individuals that we are.
Just the same as a seedling grows in the ashes of a forest fire, so do we grow in the wake of failure.
