Failure

Failure is a silly thing to be afraid of. Everyone fails at something. IN fact, almost everyone fails at almost everything they try. I remember telling my mom when we drove home from college one summer that I was terrified of failing (not being rejected, but full on flat-on-my-face failing), but the only example I could give was of failing to train our horses.

Is it failure if you don’t put your whole heart into it? And if you don’t put your whole heart into it, aren’t you setting yourself up for failure? My horse Sky was terrified of being tied up to our hitching post. This may be because, right before we bought her, the farrier had cut her hooves too deep and caused severe pain. Our friends (who found her and kept her for us while she recovered) said she might be lame, but it was worth giving it a shot. She had her quirks, one of which was taking off at a full speed gallop when I got off to take a picture, but I loved that horse. I did, however, fail to train her to the point where she would walk docilely to the post. I didn’t give her all of my time---there were boys and classes and movies to see, and so, in a way, I guess I failed to give her the best possible training. But now, I don’t really see that as a failure.

I use the word failure often these days. Almost nonchalantly I inform people that a few months ago my kidneys failed but I “responded to treatment.” I’m not afraid that my kidneys are going to fail again—I know what I can and can’t do, and I know the warning signs to keep me from reaching Stage 4 again. (There are 5 stages of Kidney Disease/Acute Renal Failure—in stage 4 you still have a fighting shot at not ending up on dialysis or with a transplant—I gladly took that shot)

I want to live the rest of my life not being afraid of failure. Heck, if a major organ was able to fail and come back from it, I guess I can bounce back from a little rejection or failure.

I want to be able to apply to graduate schools again, knowing I’m a different person and the person they rejected last year has grown up quite a bit. (And will continue to grow before I’m ready to commit to more school)

I want to be able to audition for anything from the local theater’s production of Guys & Dolls to American Idol without thinking that if I never tried I’d still have the ability to say “I could do that”

I want to have the courage to end friendships that hurt me, and nurture the friendships that help me grow.

I want to have the strength to finish strong in this Master’s Program, however long it takes me.

I want to be able to reach out to people who scare me, whether it be by applying to teach in scary neighborhoods or just looking a beggar in the eye as I fumble for change.

I want to get into a romantic relationship without my escape plan already planned out.

I want to be able to start a project, finish it, and not question whether or not I should have done it differently.

I want to sing using my real voice. The one I keep hidden 99% of the time because it’s okay if I fail when I’m borrowing someone else’s style and tone, but not if it’s just me.


I want to live my life without fear. That doesn’t mean that I’ll abandon common sense (most of the time), nor does it mean that I think a life without fear would be a life without pain. But Walter Blythe (Anne’s son) once said (in a favorite book of mine Rilla of Ingleside) that *paraphrasing here…. The fear of pain is so much worse than the pain itself. I think that’s true of my fear of failure. My fear of failure has kept me from things I’m already good at, and things that I’m terrified to try because they are things that I might not be good at.