Personal Failure: Example of the Art of Failing Well
My own personal failure list? It's a long one. Fashion failures, to begin with. The polka-dotted overalls with the uneven trimming I crafted when I was 10? It made it seem as though a low budget circus came to my school, and caused my mom to look away every time I ventured out the door in it. Or maybe a few academic failures? My poor English grade in freshman year, my dreadful cooking skills in Foods 1? Or my failure to learn how to properly carve a pumpkin: a severe consequence come Halloween. This is personal failure essay where I will share the art of failing well in life.
From the age of 16, I knew myself to be a failure. Six years ago, my dad being at work day and night to support my mother’s return to college after a long hiatus, caused my sister and I to received the blunt end of it. I had to learn to take responsibility at a young age; at eleven years old, I had to be the anchor of my family for my little sister’s good while my parents were never home. I witnessed the toll it took on her. The stresses and doubts of our parents whereabouts began to manifest into anxiety, and for my younger sister, this was too much to handle. Therapy sessions began, but my contribution with the mindset of an eleven year old was to buy a stress-relief ball for my sister. For some reason, she grew to carry the toy around with her everywhere, and it became an object that gave her some sense of comfort when many sources were lacking. On some of the few occasions where my Dad had a break, he took notice to her habit; one day, he jokingly pitched the idea to create an online toy store. When logistics were figured out, we opened our doors to shipments upon shipments of toys and pranced in our new found wonder.
Five years passed, and our company grew from what had started from a closet in the basement to a beautifully large warehouse. Another year has passed, and the memories started to tell a different story. Toys weren't selling and customers weren't coming, soon enough we were kicked out of the warehouse and back where we started, the basement. Hours of trying to reassure myself that everything was going to be okay became meaningless as time went on. I was a young woman who expected the answer 'Yes'. And then, with agonizing slowness, I received the answer 'No'. Or “sorry Bekah, but we’ve held on to the company for as long as we could,'' to be specific.
Overall, many months turned grey, but forced me into some very useful insight: I learned that to continue trying is to accept failure as simply a part of the experience – it's often said that all ideas end in failure, but all successful businesses begin there. And the clearer this became to me, the more color was restored to my life. Failure naturally elicits bitterness, pessimism and low self‑esteem – a pretty vile assortment. Yet, against the odds, it's possible to fail well – to rise above the unpleasant vessel of emotions that come with the territory and to not allow disappointment to sour my very soul. So, in the end, after having carved out a little place for myself in the world, I celebrate success, hope for the best, and admire determination. But I never shy from acknowledging that there's a point at which whatever it is I’m so determined to achieve is not going to happen. In which case, why keep beating my head against the wall? There's something to be said for failing well.
