I've read a couple books recently that talk a lot about how we define failure and success, what goes in to making decisions, and the seemingly endless pursuit of happiness and perfection. And, I'm going to be honest, I really liked the conclusions: success isn't all it's cracked up to be.
There's a school of thought (which, granted, sounds a bit trite) that failure is more valuable than success. At the most basic level, you'll never fail if you don't push your limits. In that sense, failure is simply part of the learning process. Dig a bit deeper, and you'll find that failures are often tipping points - the impetus to train harder, change jobs, make different choices. Arguably, our failures define us more than our successes. And what we do with those failures can make us stronger and smarter, or tear us apart.
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These days, it seems like everyone loves to rip on Millennials. We're lazy, entitled, ruining the housing economy by renting instead of buying, obsessed with instant gratification and image, and constantly comparing ourselves to everyone else on social media. We present bite-sized pieces of ourselves to the world, trying to make our lives look perfect and fulfilling. We broadcast our lives to the world, and try to gloss over the failures that led us to where we ended up. The struggles and failures aren't mentioned until they've been overcome. We're all about lessons learned and being an inspiration.
Let's get one thing straight: Millennials are not lazy or entitled, we just refuse to work for free and strive to have something resembling a work-life balance (something I'm admittedly terrible at). We've born the brunt of the 2008 financial crash and broader trends in the workforce that result in a generation projected to make less than our parents. We buy fewer homes and do so later in life due in part to the migration to cities and crippling student debt. Although we actually have less debt than previous generations. Go figure. I could go off on this extensively, but, let's be honest, other people have and much more eloquently than I can. So I won't.
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So back to failing.
I'm really good at failing.
Seriously. I fail a lot. I joke that I try to be wrong at least once a day, and that I actually have no idea what I'm talking about but get away with it by saying it with confidence. The first part isn't intentional but happens anyway, but the second part seems to happen a lot.
I pride myself of working hard and being willing to put in extra time to do it right. Of course, that doesn't always work. I studied for months for the professional engineering exam last fall, and still managed to fail it. This surprised most of the people around me, since apparently I project a sense of competence or whatever. Despite the fact that I wasn't super surprised about failing something I thought I'd prepared for, it shook my confidence in my abilities more than I was willing to admit. So for round 2 I started studying earlier, put in more hours, brought study material to the field (cuz what kind of geotechnical engineer would I be if I didn't spend a couple weeks in the middle of nowhere right before an exam?), and managed to pass.
Full disclosure? I don't know if I'd have been able to deal with failing the PE a second time. I felt okay about it after sitting in April, but was afraid to say with any degree of certainty that I'd pulled it off. Studying took over my life for a solid 3 months (twice!), on top of work deadlines and a vague attempt to have a personal life and maintain my relationship. It was a strain on several levels and I truly don't think it would have been worth studying and sitting for the exam a third time. I'm not sure my sanity or relationship would have survived it. So I put a lot of pressure of myself to study better and pass the damn exam.
Wanna know something else? I think I'm a better engineer for having failed that stupid exam.
Maybe another word for "failure" is "trauma". It's more... positive (hah, there's the Millennial in me trying to put a spin on it). After all, we remember our really shitty experiences for what feels like forever, while the wins fade into the background. But being forced to persevere, learn, and move on? Those are results of failure.
I failed epically at ice climbing and destroyed my ankle. There was serious talk about amputation and uncertainty if I would ever be able to run on it again. Major trauma, both physical and psychological. 5 years later, I still have my foot, still run, and have a constant dull ache and tightness in my ankle that will probably never go away. One poorly thought out decision changed my life and forced me to assess my priorities and learn to power through. I'm a better, stronger person because I really, really suck at ice climbing.
See? Failing can be a net positive. And I'm really good at failing. Maybe because I'm less afraid of it than I used to be.
