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.

Source

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.