On Failure

Add another blog to the lists of abandoned projects…

Why is failure so hard to swallow? Why do we use it as an excuse to abandon things? I started this blog because I enjoy writing and I enjoy sharing my writing, but like so many things I put a lot on it. I’ll post every other week. I’ll share a perfect mix of funny antidotes and serious pieces. It will be great… I’ll be great… Sorry blog, you’re like the child of doctors that wants nothing more than to be a street busker. 

There’s this mental exercise I do when I’m feeling funky about the way I’m doing, saying or being. I ask myself if it’s getting me what I want; is it working. Is beating around the bush instead of asking someone for what I want getting it for me? Is thinking of this blog as my big break into the writing career I’ve never dreamt of (Ha! I have a great imagination) inspiring me to write? Nope, opposite actually. Turns out piling expectations onto an endeavor can make you too scared to get started. This is an old game I play with myself, I doubt I’m the only one. When I’m unable to meet my own wild expectations I give up. Why? Because failure sucks, it makes us feel like all the demeaning stories we tell about ourselves are true. Towards the top of my list is one about how I never follow through with anything. As if finishing everything you start is actually important. My great ambition in life is not to finish it. Maybe the moment you’re finished with something is the moment you’ve learned what you can from it. Or just the moment when you want to be finished.

This year I decided to take February off from drinking alcohol. Shortest month of the year, should be easy right? As I got closer I decided that I’d up the ante and make it a full month of mindfulness. I’d journal every day as well as either doing yoga or meditating. I committed to a day long meditation at the end of the month with a friend for motivation to get back into that practice. Guess what happened? I failed. I got sick the second week of the month and had to fly out of town the third for a funeral. Most of those days it just wasn’t happening. At the day long meditation my friend admitted she hadn’t accomplished an everyday practice either. Maybe it was the 11 days I did manage to meditate (yes I counted, kept a tally on my calendar…) but I didn’t beat myself up for it at the end of the month. I chose to be proud of the days I did practice and it felt good.

In Tara Brach’s book Radical Acceptance, she relates asking herself the question  “What would it be like if I could accept life–accept this moment–exactly as it is?”. What if I could accept failure for what it is rather than giving it the power to derail my projects? That’s what I did with my ambitious month of mindfulness. I accepted it for what it was: a month where I focused as much attention as I could on practices that make me feel good and it did make me feel good. 

So am I done making a monster out of the pile of unfinished projects I have? Probably not, but I’m going to try. Will I be posting to this blog every other week religiously with mind blowing works of literary genius? Not likely, but I guess we’ll see...