Failure is an Option
I was recently asked in a job interview about my biggest failures in life and how I’ve dealt with them. I was caught a little off guard. “Aren’t you supposed to be asking me about all of my successes and snazzy resume virtues like revenue growth and educational accomplishments?” I thought to myself.
Really though, I was thrilled that the meeting lead with the topic of failure because as someone swimming in the season of midlife, I consider myself something of a failure expert. While I have much to be grateful for and have suffered far less trauma than many, I’ve also had my fair share of failures from divorce to being laid-off.
I’ve been a part of two failed start-ups. I’ve been rejected for more acting auditions and article submissions than I could possibly count. I once applied to several top acting Masters programs and didn’t get in to any of them. I’ve outlined career choices I thought were the right next step only to be rejected and/or profoundly disappointed. I’ve made poor financial decisions. I’ve hurt others and walked away from close friendships. I’ve experienced significant injuries, major surgeries, and the vast uncertainty of having your health compromised. Like almost everyone, I’ve experienced the sting of defeat, the utter frustration of a significant misstep, and the total loss of losing a loved one.
Of course, I gave my interviewer the cliff-notes version of my failures and weaved just a couple of them in to my narrative on failure forging character. The interviewer nodded in agreement, and we quietly moved on to my successes.
While society lauds a winner, we merely give lip service to the losers. Most of that sentiment is about dusting ourselves off to succeed again. But navigating failure is deeper than learning to succeed in the wake of it. Facing failure is about seeing our shadow, confronting our sorrow, and stepping once again into the arena to oppose the dragon. In the Hollywood version, the loser gets knocked down, but always gets back up and slays the dragon.
But I’m not a screenwriter and the purpose of this piece is not to romanticize failure. Make no mistake, failure is brutal. Failure can break your heart, hit you in the gut and pull the carpet from under your feet. Failure sucks - It literally hurts everywhere.
Especially in a success-driven culture, failure is a hard pill to swallow. But failure is also our best medicine, because failure forces humility. This state allows for the greatest of all human experiences to flourish - love. As grief guru and writer Francis Weller says, “Loss is the other side of the coin of love. The greater the love, the greater the loss.” Vulnerability creates the fertile soil where friendship, empathy, and love blossoms.
True love is only available to those who are willing to have their hearts broken. If you study the world’s religions, you will see a common theme among them - brokenness allows for spiritual growth. Christ doesn’t talk about the proud and successful being blessed, but of the meek, the poor in spirit, and broken hearted finding true peace and happiness.
The reason for this is simple - When the ego is in the driver’s seat, we cannot hear the voice of authenticity. It’s hard to listen for divine direction when we’re patting ourselves on the back, counting our money, and shining our trophies. It’s when we’re broken that we’re open. Of course, as I can attest, it’s when we’re broken that we’re also depressed, addicted, and numb.
As one who has failed plenty, it’s not easy to hear the ‘you’ll get them next time’ mantra. No one likes to hear about ‘silver linings’ in the midst of trauma, setback, or devastation. Players don’t want to hear “better luck next year” after a gut-wrenching loss; they want to know when the next win is coming. But life doesn’t guarantee wins, life only guarantees losses, and it’s those losses that create character and help us define our true callings. Irish poet John O’Donahue once said, “Life is a growth in the art of loss.”
The truth of failure isn’t that once you’ve learned from defeat, you’ll get them next time or it won’t happen again. Learning from failure doesn’t even necessarily mean that you’ll ultimately be stronger. The truth is simply that if we’re willing to face our most profound disappointments, our hearts will ultimately open. This meekness allows for us to do our most meaningful work and demonstrate our greatest capacity to love.
As the interview wound down having touched on both my successes and failures, the interviewer asked me another pointed question. “When’s the last time you felt really alive?” he inquired. It didn’t take me long to respond. “In delivering the eulogy for my Dad at his memorial,” I said as tears welled up in my eyes. I vividly recalled how powerful it was to celebrate and remember Dad with hundreds of people that he had touched. Ironically, in remembering a loved one who had just passed, I’ve never felt so alive. As Francis Weller says, “We are most alive at the threshold between loss and revelation; every loss ultimately opens the way for a new encounter.” The interviewer was stunned. “That...was a great answer.” He said.
As a society, we’re so caught up with success that paradoxically, we’ve forgotten how to fail. We only post our best pictures and portray our most perfect selves, unwilling to see the failure that lurks beneath the surface. We celebrate the celebrities, stars, and small minority of haves while the have-nots wallow in a sea of numbness, distraction, and despair.
We are all called to mourn and to open our hearts. We have much grief work to do in facing our collective losses, missed opportunities, economic disparity, and our ailing planet. Each day as I work through the sadness of missing my Dad, I also try and work through the anguish caused by regret, massive disappointment, and lost opportunity. Bringing dignity to my grief is a process.
It’s right to plan, strive, and hope for success, but life has also taught me that failure is definitely an option. As I learn to let go of the desires of the ego and sit with loss and suffering, I also learn to listen more intently and love more fiercely. Facing our grief and failure teaches us how to love (ourselves, a job, person, or calling) again.
Oh and speaking of failure, I didn’t get the job.