Failing and falling
At a workshop, I was asked to list my failures. The experience has stayed with me.
I recently attended a dynamic workshop for administrators in higher education, facilitated by a psychologist. I confess that I went reluctantly, exhausted by a full academic year during a global pandemic, which is changing and shifting everything in the postsecondary education world. Spending a full day in an enclosed space, filled with strangers, while wearing a mask for eight hours felt like a grueling end to what was already a very hard year. But God often shows up in our weary spaces.
Each workshop participant had to do an exercise in which we listed the things that we had failed at over the course of our careers. The failures among this group were numerous: failed classes and failed relationships; failed bar exams and failed businesses; failed comprehensive exams and failed dissertation defenses. And yet, an outsider looking at this group would have considered each one of us a success story. Most of us were excelling in our careers as administrators, professors, and educators. Many were thriving parents, spouses, and partners—achieving some measure of work-life balance and personal success in the midst of very demanding careers. We were the mentors and the advisers, the people with answers to questions from students and colleagues. And we all had long lists of failures to share with each other.
Of all the things we did that day, this one exercise of listing my failures has stayed with me. I know myself to be a person who is haunted by her failures, who does not let go of them easily, and I struggle not to judge myself solely by what I haven’t achieved. Enumerating my list of failings, naming them one by one, was a stark reminder that I have failed at many things—including some very important things. I failed to win that highly coveted fellowship or to earn that once-in-a-lifetime job appointment. I failed to check in regularly on my friend who is battling severe depression or to visit our elderly family matriarch each time I traveled to her city. I failed at getting the grant, failed at negotiating for what I’m worth, failed at securing the bag when making a deal. I’ve failed to burn some bridges that needed to be burned, and I’ve failed to give a second chance when a heartfelt apology was offered.
