It is good to be a failure
All of your failures are a testament to the fact that you keep trying to do something.
Yesterday, I wrote about the virtues of being a kind of amateur. In the discussion on that post my friend Jeremiah, writer of On Ancient Paths, shared this quote from Epictetus which I think is quite apt:
What, do all horses become swift-running, or all dogs quick on the scent? And then, because I’m not naturally gifted, shall I therefore abandon all effort to do my best? Heaven forbid. Epictetus won’t be better than Socrates; but even if I’m not too bad, that is good enough for me. For I won’t ever be a Milo either, and yet I don’t neglect my body; nor a Croesus, and I don’t neglect my property; nor in general do I cease to make any effort in any regard whatever merely because I despair of achieving perfection.
This is really good, and really it says all I wanted to say about being an amateur. So today, let’s talk about a corollary: if you’re going to be an amateur in many fields, you’re going to fail quite a bit. And that is probably a good thing.
We never talk about our failures. We like to present our best selves to the world — and by this I mean we like to present our successful selves. This is my beautiful wife, I like to say, not mentioning my many failed relationships. This is my beautiful house, I proudly say as you enter through the door, not mentioning the times when I was worried about making rent. These are all my achievements. Aren’t they lovely?
I think this should change. If we get used to the idea that failure is normal, and in fact a healthy part of a human life, then we won’t be afraid to do the thing that makes failure more likely. Namely, we won’t be afraid to take a chance on something.
I’m going to start the conversation. Feel free to continue it in the comments. Here is an incomplete – of course – list of some of my failures.
I failed my very first Ancient Greek class because I was too busy drinking and playing Super Smash Bros until 5 in the morning as an undergraduate.
I applied to PhD programs twice – once when I was about to graduate from Ohio University, once when I needed to transfer due to research interests – and I was rejected at 95% of the programs to which I applied.
A professor once told me he worried I lacked the ability to identify interesting problems or ask interesting questions. At the time, he was probably right.
I left academia because I knew the odds of me getting a decent job were essentially zilch. (I count this at least as a partial failure because I didn’t try at least once.)
I built a bookcase on my back patio, and the result was that I had a lopsided bookcase and a concrete patio with a large oil stain. I still haven’t built a better one.
I tried to pick up woodcarving, but I gave up after I lost my patience and my hands started to constantly ache.
I tried and failed to write a weird fiction novel called EAST/WEST about a mythical city isolated from the world, mirrored on the East Berlin/West Berlin divide. I couldn’t figure out the plot, and so I abandoned it.
I tried and failed to write another novel, this one called Zion, Ohio, about a charismatic cult leader (modeled on Joseph Smith) in a post-ecological collapse Midwest. I think I wrote the opening chapters 10 or 11 times.
There was also a fantasy novel which really was just Seven Samurai but significantly worse.
I have gotten into weightlifting, gotten fairly strong, and then stopped at least three times.
I used to go bouldering 4 times a week, and I was probably at my healthiest then, but I completely stopped after friends moved out of town.
I started at least 5 podcasts, none of which took off (at least while I was still involved).
I started a YouTube channel years ago, but I deleted it after I got a little bit of attention and it sent my anxiety through the roof. It took me several years to try again.
(This of course leaves out all of those interpersonal failures — but those just don’t feel like the sort of thing I’d want to share.)
I share this brief list not to ask for pity or anything like that. In fact, I share it for the exact opposite reason. I’m not ashamed of these anymore, because I have essentially given up on being ashamed of failing.
To be a failure is to be someone who has made an honest attempt — this is closely associated with being someone who actually wants something from the world, knows that this requires a good deal of effort, and knows that success is not guaranteed. All of your failures are a testament to the fact that you keep trying to do something.
I would rather be a man who has failed at many things than a man who never tried anything for fear of failure.
I did horrifically at my coursework in both Greek (withdrew midway through second semester) and Latin (managed one semester and a C on my transcript). I’ve begun countless projects that now sit as 750 word brain-dump documents on my computer. I’ve promised myself I would become consistent in language study or blogging or something and have always fallen off the wagon just a couple weeks in. I have had far more rejections of pitches and article submissions than I’ve ever had acceptances by orders of magnitude. I think it’s so great to start this conversation and recognize all of the failures that contribute to any successes we may have. Thanks for sharing!
Enlightening post! I've saved this quote for future reference - "All of your failures are a testament to the fact that you keep trying to do something." So well said.
I also think that it is easier to talk about failure, once you're out of the phase/stage of failure. It is tougher to talk about an illness while being ill, but easier once you've overcome the illness and are in better health. "All of your failures are a testament to the fact that you are on a hero's journey and you've overcome a lot more than what anyone else (or even yourself) might know or give credit for".