Failure is something that I never want to be. It's akin to beauty in the sense that it's in the eye of the beholder. I never want to be a failure, so I never will be one. It's as simple as that. I choose to have a successful and happy life.
Failure is the unparalleled motivator... the unseen driving force that is actually "a fear of failure" but to which we usually give no name. For many it does not exist even if you would ask, but it's still there hidden below the surface. The taste of failure is bitter and it's smell is rancid; it stirs up anger and frustration and a whole host of unwanted feelings. I think most people are motivated to avoid it, although some are not. Some are motivated to succeed for a singular act or purpose, some are motivated through their faith, or for their children, while some hardly have a drive at all. I have pity for those people who are wandering aimlessly and go through the motions of life either blindly or on the whims of others. Dream it! Live it! Do it! This is your life; do not waste it. You might not succeed in the eyes of anyone else at whatever it is you're trying to do, but making the attempt is worthwhile. Failing at a task does not make you a failure, but never trying just might. One job, one critique, one relationship, one rejection does not define you. Not everyone has the same capabilities, or smarts, or chances, or gumption, or support, or desires, or means, or je ne sais quoi... but everyone can try. I believe it is completely acceptable to be motivated via a fear of failure as long as it does not consume you. You cannot let a fear of failure paralyze your life, because what kind of life would that be?
This almost sounds like an underlying message for an after-school special. Are those still around?
This post is annoying me with it's preachiness so I'm going to end this portion with a dismount. I am attempting a landing off the balance beam with a difficulty degree of 9 out of 10. Quiet please. Deep breath. Pirouette like Mendenhall. Full steam ahead. Up in the air... and... stuck! A perfect landing!
Did you expect anything else from a pierogi who chooses happiness and then writes it in for herself?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've been pondering the question posed below.
Aside from learning how to cook (better), sew (yawn), and become a pierogi (fun!)... I'm not sure what else to seek right now. I better work on creating or finding a time machine, because apparently I've approached an elderly stage of life when "learn to sew" is on my list of things to do. Seriously? I bought a sewing machine last April and pictured myself clutching fistfuls of cash saved by hemming my own pants. Unfortunately I overestimated my ability to follow directions where you must be either over the age of 90 or a genius to comprehend such wizardry. The first period of positive cashflow is still pending and pants with tags on them are still hanging untouched in my closet.
Except... waaaiiiitt a minute... does this mean that I failed? No. There's still time. And remember that I don't fail at life. So far the sewing machine has failed me by being ridiculously complicated and temperamental and generally not fun to be around. She doesn't work well with others. And by others I mean me.
Oh, yes, I could always attempt the Big One. The Big One = writing a novel, but I can't think of a plot. A plot is a very minor detail in fiction writing, to be sure. It can almost be considered an afterthought because as long as I get my book jacket squared away then I'm pretty much set. But if you have a plot sitting around in your attic collecting dust... I promise to listen to your idea and give it thorough consideration. Some might call it cheating but I just call it neighborly... like something Mr. Rogers would do if he was still around. I'm sure he would wrap up a snappy plot just for me and put a beautiful gold bow on it, because that kind man was giving, brilliant, and proud to be from the resplendent city that is Pittsburgh, PA.
Not all hope is lost, because I signed up for a creative writing course - starting next week! - at CCAC. I'm pretty sure thousands of esteemed writers started out at CCAC and went on to bigger and better things, such as blogging, that do not require trifling external validation from highfalutin publishers. Blogging means that u type, u click, n just like that... tadaa! ...even ur a writer. Gag.
(Sidebar: Notice my geriatric use of the word "highfalutin". I'm hoping this will get me brownie points with the sewing machine.)
So what about you... what would you attempt? Would you sing? Believe? Apologize? Travel? Run? Call? Leave? Paint? Write? Dance? Forgive? Adopt? Volunteer? Create? Speak?
Would you love?
Failure is the unparalleled motivator... the unseen driving force that is actually "a fear of failure" but to which we usually give no name. For many it does not exist even if you would ask, but it's still there hidden below the surface. The taste of failure is bitter and it's smell is rancid; it stirs up anger and frustration and a whole host of unwanted feelings. I think most people are motivated to avoid it, although some are not. Some are motivated to succeed for a singular act or purpose, some are motivated through their faith, or for their children, while some hardly have a drive at all. I have pity for those people who are wandering aimlessly and go through the motions of life either blindly or on the whims of others. Dream it! Live it! Do it! This is your life; do not waste it. You might not succeed in the eyes of anyone else at whatever it is you're trying to do, but making the attempt is worthwhile. Failing at a task does not make you a failure, but never trying just might. One job, one critique, one relationship, one rejection does not define you. Not everyone has the same capabilities, or smarts, or chances, or gumption, or support, or desires, or means, or je ne sais quoi... but everyone can try. I believe it is completely acceptable to be motivated via a fear of failure as long as it does not consume you. You cannot let a fear of failure paralyze your life, because what kind of life would that be?
This almost sounds like an underlying message for an after-school special. Are those still around?
This post is annoying me with it's preachiness so I'm going to end this portion with a dismount. I am attempting a landing off the balance beam with a difficulty degree of 9 out of 10. Quiet please. Deep breath. Pirouette like Mendenhall. Full steam ahead. Up in the air... and... stuck! A perfect landing!
Did you expect anything else from a pierogi who chooses happiness and then writes it in for herself?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've been pondering the question posed below.
Aside from learning how to cook (better), sew (yawn), and become a pierogi (fun!)... I'm not sure what else to seek right now. I better work on creating or finding a time machine, because apparently I've approached an elderly stage of life when "learn to sew" is on my list of things to do. Seriously? I bought a sewing machine last April and pictured myself clutching fistfuls of cash saved by hemming my own pants. Unfortunately I overestimated my ability to follow directions where you must be either over the age of 90 or a genius to comprehend such wizardry. The first period of positive cashflow is still pending and pants with tags on them are still hanging untouched in my closet.
Except... waaaiiiitt a minute... does this mean that I failed? No. There's still time. And remember that I don't fail at life. So far the sewing machine has failed me by being ridiculously complicated and temperamental and generally not fun to be around. She doesn't work well with others. And by others I mean me.
Oh, yes, I could always attempt the Big One. The Big One = writing a novel, but I can't think of a plot. A plot is a very minor detail in fiction writing, to be sure. It can almost be considered an afterthought because as long as I get my book jacket squared away then I'm pretty much set. But if you have a plot sitting around in your attic collecting dust... I promise to listen to your idea and give it thorough consideration. Some might call it cheating but I just call it neighborly... like something Mr. Rogers would do if he was still around. I'm sure he would wrap up a snappy plot just for me and put a beautiful gold bow on it, because that kind man was giving, brilliant, and proud to be from the resplendent city that is Pittsburgh, PA.
Not all hope is lost, because I signed up for a creative writing course - starting next week! - at CCAC. I'm pretty sure thousands of esteemed writers started out at CCAC and went on to bigger and better things, such as blogging, that do not require trifling external validation from highfalutin publishers. Blogging means that u type, u click, n just like that... tadaa! ...even ur a writer. Gag.
(Sidebar: Notice my geriatric use of the word "highfalutin". I'm hoping this will get me brownie points with the sewing machine.)
So what about you... what would you attempt? Would you sing? Believe? Apologize? Travel? Run? Call? Leave? Paint? Write? Dance? Forgive? Adopt? Volunteer? Create? Speak?
Would you love?
I am absolutely going to use "highfalutin" in a sentence tomorrow. Oh, yes, I will.
ReplyDeleteMed School, Write, and not always wait for "the other shoe to drop" ;)
ReplyDeleteGood post FD! love you.