I have talked a lot about failure and how common it is. How failing is good for us, teaches us, etc. I’m not alone in this line of rhetoric, in fact I see discussions of resiliency, failure, and grit everywhere these days. I am also cusp-GenX (technically a millennial and probably align more there) but I remember enough of the 1980’s to be skeptical and cynical of any and all corporate-sounding-buzzwords too. All the, “celebrate failing” inspo posts had me eye rolling. But yet, I still believe. My failures DID help me.
To address this bifurcation between rolling my eyes and believing, I decided to look beyond the buzzy words. Sure, failure taught me some stuff, but what specifically did it teach me?
Let’s give it a shot. 5 specific lessons I’ve drawn from very specific failures:
(1) Talking about studying/work, stressing out about studying/work, and planning time for studying/work are not the same as DOING THE WORK. You can lose hours and hours this way, and I sure did. I started to glean this lesson after the first year of law school. I felt like I was endlessly at library working, but my grades didn’t reflect that effort. I had to ask myself, was I actually doing the work, or was I just talking about how much work I had to do while physically located in the library? Those things aren’t the same. I still get caught in this loop from time to time. I’m grateful to those shitty 1L grades that taught me this. My kids now get to hear this constant refrain anytime they procrastinate and complain: Do the work and the work will be done!
(2) You can never really know what someone is thinking or what dynamics are working in the background. In my pre-law-career days I interviewed for a program coordinator position that was web development heavy. I was certain that I bombed it. I still remember how bad I thought it went. They offered me the job that afternoon, and I worked there for 3 years. I’ve also had a situation in the recent years where I was considering leaving the university for this gig I really wanted – like really, really wanted. I had three (3!!) interviews, and they all went SO WELL. We ran over time chatting, we connected and planned, etc. I didn’t get it. They hired someone from their Board. That person absolutely deserved the position and is fantastic – but the experience underscored the lesson – you never really know what someone is thinking or what relationships and dynamics are working in the background.
(3) Working really hard for something and/or wanting it very badly doesn’t entitle you to it. This feel wrong based on every training montage from a movie you’ve ever seen, and it kind of is, but it’s true. When I failed the Bar Exam in 2012 it I missed it by 12 points (on a curved exam). I had really done a lot of work, maybe not as much as I could have, but a lot. More than enough, for most people, anyway. I was pregnant and panicked and I studied constantly. I had friends and study companions (though none of my core-study group) that, to be blunt, didn’t work as hard. They passed. I failed. THE INJUSTICE. Here’s the thing, the injustice didn’t do anything to help me. I now use what small platform I have to loudly tell everyone how antiquated, gate-keepy, and irrelevant the bar exam is (JUSTICE!), but I had to accept that in that situation how hard I worked and how bad I wanted it simply didn’t matter. It usually doesn’t.
(4) A huge part of success is just showing up. I made it through one semester as a college freshman, was put on academic probation, and shortly into semester two I opted to cut my loses, drop out, and start working full time. Now, obviously, this story has an academic happy ending (IRONY!) but my biggest issue with classes at 18 years old? Just showing up. I tasted freedom and I ordered seconds. There was no immediate consequence to just blowing it off, so I did. I now know that a huge portion of success is just being there. Most classes I could’ve squeaked by with Bs and Cs just by being there and listening. I of course, also had to the learn this lesson in other contexts, but the main point is, opportunity comes to those who are standing in the room to hear about it. Show. Up.
(5) Trying to act like someone else makes you unlikeable, looks dumb, and undercuts your capabilities. When I started my position as an Executive Director, my title was about 15x bigger than my responsibilities and skills were, but I was hungry. I wanted to prove myself and really “do something,” ya know? Our Dean at the time was a woman from New York and I really admired her. She was frank, to-the-point, and didn’t mess around. I wanted to be just like her, and I tried to emulate her in the way she ran meetings, spoke, and communicated. … I looked like an idiot. I was young and new and acting like a “boss lady” just made me an annoying 27 year old know-it-all. I’m also extremely midwestern, folksy, and chatty. I was not built for the conversation style of New Yorkers, much as I appreciated it. At a certain point I conflated this failing with the assumption that people wouldn’t ever take me seriously, so I sort of gave up the act. I just started being folksy and myself, because screw it I was bad at this anyway, so just stop trying. But then, THEN, it worked. My authenticity built relationships and trust, which led to opportunities. Leaders can and should look and sound different. My pretending act was obvious and made me come off as immature, vaguely pathetic I think, and worst of all inauthentic. I was not designed to be formal or stoic or rigid. My superpower became my friendliness. Now some people think me too informal, and that’s their call, but even in those situations it is better to be authentic than to appear as if you’re playing pretend and undercutting your authority.
Probably important to note here that failing still sucks, and it hurts, and it feels bad. I cried real tears and carried metaphorical baggage over every thing on this list, plus dozens of others not listed. Sit in the suck for a while when you need to.
Grit doesn’t mean you’re immediately fine (that, I believe, is something more like disassociation, or burying things, or … maybe go ask someone at BetterHelp).
Grit means you take the time to recover, sulk, process, whatever, and then make decisions about potential next steps or new plans.
Elsbeth Magilton 