Notes on Failure
Or, more specifically, Failure Fest Scotland!
Last week, I had the great honor and privilege of participating in a panel discussion on the subject of failure, part of the first Failure Fest Scotland (FFS! Best acronym ever).
The panel consisted of academics and coaches from a variety of disciplines and backgrounds, really lovely, interesting, inspiring, and welcoming folks.
I was “Team’ed in,” and I want to shout that out because, for the Covid-Conscious among us (I am one), it is gratifying when organizations and institutions are still willing to use the technology we all figured out years ago.
And it takes a truly forward-thinking mentality to create a multidisciplinary, multinational panel and then make the most out of technology to do it in an accessible and eco-friendly way. Kudos to the organizers for being models of this. This is the way.
And I was truly, so honored to be part of this. I’m still glowing almost a week later.
This post is about my reflections on what I said, heard, and witnessed at the panel.
And it’s my hope you’ll find little nuggets of wisdom here, just like I did.
Because, let’s face it, none of us is probably done experiencing challenges, failures, things not going as planned or hoped, or just plain giving up on something.
You say, “Thanks for pointing that out! Unsubscribe!!”
But that means one thing right off the bat: you’re not alone.
So without further ado, here are some tidbits from Failure Fest Scotland:
We Laughed…
One of the moderators told the room, “It’s not a competition!” and we all laughed.
Best icebreaker ever.
Sometimes when we share moments of struggle or failure, the conversation can feel like it’s becoming a race to the bottom, a competition of whose experience was the worst.
But what happened with “It’s not a competition!” was everyone’s experiences were immediately validated.
The human experiences of trying and struggling, failing, walking away, grieving, getting angry, starting over, these are all very real things. Things we all understand because we’ve all been there.
United in suckage, yes. We have all been there, and will be there again. Might as well have a laugh about it when we can.
That said, the things I shared were truly and deeply painful to me in the moments I experienced them.
And I know everyone who shared anything felt the same about their own stories.
But instead of trying to imagine whose stuff was the worst, we just made room for everyone’s everything. Topped off with a bit of irrevent humor, just how I like it.
And People Applauded…
One of the most moving parts of the event was the applause that followed each panelist’s introduction and every other failure story shared throughout the event.
Why was this moving?
Because we all opened by telling 2-3 failure stories from our own lives.
Yup. We got deep and vulnerable right from the start.
And then everyone cheered each other on.
Now I realize part of this was the normal polite applause that follows public speaking at these kinds of events.
But it took on a new meaning here.
It felt like celebrating we’d gotten through something hard, we were brave enough to share it, the stories mattered, we were witnessed, and, and I really cannot say this enough, everyone understood because everyone’s been there.
It was like everyone was saying, “I get it! I’ve got you! We’re all in this together!”
It was warm and kind, enthusiastic, affirming, and, most of all, welcoming.
It’s not an easy thing to jump in with your failure stories. But there’s an important truth underneath all those stories, and it’s one we all share.
Because Someone Who Fails Is Someone Who Tries…
And the more I reflected on the applause, the more I thought about what failure experience challenges us to embrace.
For example, when we’ve tried something, and it doesn’t work out, maybe we aren’t “the person who did [the thing],” but we are, without doubt, “the person who tried doing [the thing].”
You are a person who tries.
It’s actually a Really Big Deal.
Because it is almost always easier to be a person who does not try, who doesn’t investigate new ideas, desire something different and work towards it, share some part of themselves, strive, or expand their awareness or life experience.
And so, even if something doesn’t work out, something is different. Something is new.
We don’t celebrate that nearly enough.
Partly because our culture is so focused on achievement we forget about the importance of process.
We are in a process of becoming all the time. I hope.
We focus just on what we “get” and what we “do,” the products.
And we do that sometimes, I think, at the cost of forgetting the being.
We are humans, being.
And being is often messy. And full of fits and starts and pauses and redirects and ups and downs.
And failures.
Pink tells us we “gotta get up and try, try, try.”
But we don’t always cheer ourselves on for doing just that.
Because the thing is, every time you try, as Alanis reminds us, “you live, you learn.”
You are never starting over with nothing, from “scratch.”
It’s a funny phrase. We mourn starting over “from scratch,” but the amazing banana bread I made yesterday? From scratch.
Scratch isn’t nothing. A person who tries always starts something new with more than they had before.
That might sometimes be only a small comfort, but again, it’s not nothing.
And Someone Who Tries Is Also Someone Who Grieves…
Because when we try and fail, or it’s harder than we thought, or we have to set something aside because life is lifing too hard, or an opportunity is taken away, or we realize what we wanted doesn’t look AT ALL like we thought it would, we grieve.
I wrote about grieving in a previous blog post.
We frame grieving around death. Someone dies, we grieve.
That’s true.
But we grieve so, so much more.
And the thing that often gets overlooked is we also grieve what might have been.
We aren’t taught what grieving is or means or how to do it when it comes to death.
And we definitely aren’t taught about what grieving “what might have been” looks or feels like.
It’s really amorphous, and really uncomfortable. There’s an empty space there, where we imagined something that will not be.
And there’s all this pressure to fill empty spaces with meaning. As if our attempts, experiences, and grief, to be valid, have to be productive of some thing.
That in itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I’m a big fan of reflection, self-awareness, and growth.
But here’s the thing: sometimes we can’t fill it. Maybe because it’s too big or too fresh, or maybe it’s too painful to dig around in it.
Then it’s just another burden, another thing we feel like we can’t get right.
And then sometimes we internalize feelings of “double failure.” “I couldn’t do [the thing], and I can’t even figure out why.”
Double whammy.
Be freed from the responsibility to create meaning from every experience. Especially the really, really painful ones. And especially in the immediate aftermath.
It is actually ok to simply say, “This happened. It sucks. I feel terrible/devastated/angry.” Period.
You are worthy of care, connection, community, healing, etc. Right now. Even if you don’t fully understand what happened or why.
Later, if you want, make meaning. More on that later.
And None of This Happens in a Vacuum…
We struggle, we face challenges, we fail, things aren’t what we expected, things get taken away.
We have all experienced this in some form.
When we talk about failure, we often end up sharing individual stories.
Sharing our stories without shame, cheering each other on, becoming people who try and who applaud others trying, taking time to grieve, it all matters.
And none of this is happening in a world that is fair, balanced, or equitable, where everyone starts with the same resources, opportunities, abilities, and privilege.
Our stories are individual, yes. And the more we share, the more we realize two things:
We are not alone.
I won’t understand how it feels to be you, navigating a specific situation or trying to do something and having it not go the way you wanted or expected.
But I can understand what it means to grieve, to struggle to understand something, and to sit in the often uncomfortable feelings of failure and loss before figuring out what’s next.
Community and connection are so important. We all know these feelings. You can sit in a room full of strangers and have them applaud you with the kindest smiles while you tell them painful parts of your life. I thought, “All these people care. That’s why they are here, spending a day learning about failure.”
That’s really moving.
Failure isn’t just an individual thing.
Our individual failure and success stories are molded by the systemic structures that create barriers for some, and streamline processes for others. And so not all failure experiences are economically or ethically neutral.
Why am I writing about this on a coaching blog? Because coaching is political.
White supremacist societal structures are failing us every day, individually and collectively. And our hyper-individualizing social systems tell us it’s all our fault. They say: “It’s you, hi, you’re the problem, it’s you,” as if no one’s biases or unchecked privilege or broader systemic inequities have anything to do with anything.
Hyper-individualization is a handy mechanism for sustaining societal systems and interpersonal social contracts rooted in white supremacy and its many branches: racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, ageism, etc.
And one of hyper-individualization’s biggest tools is shame.
And Shame Plays a Big Ass Role…
When we fail at something, we often feel an acute sense of alone-ness and a familiar sense of shame that tells us not to tell anyone. We will be devalued if people know. Stay quiet. Stay small. Stay where and how the system tells you you belong.
It’s a lie. Just like the lie that when you fail, everything about it, every part of it, only has to do with your efforts, abilities, and value.
And it’s a lie that tells us our trying and the human experience of failure aren’t meaningful on their own. Aren’t meaning-ful without additional interpretation.
And there’s plenty of pressure: “What did that teach you? What did you learn? What’s the lesson?”
I understand the desire. Grief, loss, and failure make us feel like we’re not in control. They don’t fit into tidy little containers. We want labels and narratives we can hold on to and understand.
But like: I’m grieving, and now I have homework? Please.
It is truly ok to not rush to answer those questions.
What I find is not pushing to answer those questions is, paradoxically, what allows insight to come in organically, when the time is right.
Because sometimes, if there is meaning to be made, it comes after the grieving.
The feels come first. Sorry about that.
We say “hindsight is 20/20.” Yes. But if you’re in the experience of grief, you aren’t at the place for hindsight.
Hindsight. Because you have to get through it before you can look back on it.
When we feel safe and ready, meaning, insight, and understanding can reveal themselves. Or we can go about seeking and creating them. It’s up to you.
But there is no set schedule. We might suddenly, years later, have a realization.
We might be on a panel in front of a bunch of strangers telling our story, and suddenly, ta-da!, some new understanding pops in.
But We Can Reclaim Our Failures, Our Feelings, Our Stories!
This is why events like Failure Fest Scotland are so important.
Not just because it feels pretty flippin' amazing to have a roomful of strangers applaud your failure stories (and it does!), but because it’s one branch of a movement shaking up the status quo, saying: this whole thing can be better for everyone.
When something is better for everyone, it’s better for you, too.
Let’s try and miss and feel the feels and take a break and get an idea and try again.
Let’s grieve when we need to and make meaning when we want to.
Let’s celebrate the whole damn thing whenever we can.
Because you’re a person who tries.
I’m trying, too. And sometimes, I’m failing. I have the stories to prove it!
A whole bunch of folks in Scotland can attest to that.
I’m cheering you on.
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