My relationship with failure has never been good. I like to think I handle failure with grace, with acceptance, but the truth is, I'm very far from that. I replay them over and over again in my head. I judge myself. Harshly. Critically. And I'm certain this is not unique to me, which is why I'm writing about it. To get it out, but also to feel less alone, and, hopefully, make you feel less alone, too, if it's something you struggle with. Because as I struggle with it, I'm also working on it.
I've failed at plenty of things. In fact, I fail at something every day. But it's not those failures that bring me pain. It's the ones that force me to recognize a part of myself isn't as great as I thought it was.
I just finished Rachel Linden's novel, "The Enlightenment Of Bees." I don't know if I'd recommend it, her writing style was not for me, but there was a storyline that resonated, that kept me turning the pages. And in the last 25 pages of the book I was struck with a sentence that made me pause. "My value has always been tied to what I thought I should be able to do and give," Linden reflects for her main character. "And now that I've failed, I realize this alternate life for me is just an illusion, I don't feel I have anything left."
It's those failures that expose illusions - of yourself, your world view, your dreams. Those are the types of failures that have the ability to consume me, that overwhelm me with sorrow, sometimes panic – those are the failures that keep me sullen and second guessing.
We are not perfect. I am not perfect. I'm deeply flawed. But I'm learning to accept that about myself, even like it. It's actually quite freeing. I'm learning to be gentle with myself. To not look at those big, ugly, heartbreaking fuckups as failures, but as lessons. To glean as much information as I can from them so I can to be a better person and to make those around me better, too.
It's funny because I feel like I've been here before. That I once mastered the art of letting go, the tenderness towards self it takes to survive. But what I seemed to forget is that it takes practice. Day in and day out. Compassion, kindness, vulnerability, love, forgiveness, acceptance. They all take practice. And I suppose that's part of my illusion. To think they come naturally, always. They don't. But practicing those, daily, ritually, I think, is how we combat failure.
So here's to practicing a little bit more self-compassion this week. To being a little bit more gentle to yourself and to others.
Please enjoy this week's song, "Tide" by Antonio Carlos Jobim. It's happy. It reminds me of spring and butterflies.
'Tide' by Antonio Carlos Jobim
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Here's a 30 minute documentary on Hamburger Eyes, a zine that captured a community and helped shape photography in the Bay Area (and zines in general). (I've watched it twice.)
Did you know that $25 can provide 75 meals to those in need. (Yes, I'm asking you to donate to Hunger Solutions, because the work their organization does is incredibly important and access to food - and healthy food - should be a basic human right.)
In a piece from The Cut's 'Ask Polly' section, the reader writes in about her lack of accomplishments, an impalpable life. She notes that her adventurous life of non-commitment has left her in her mid-thirties with nothing to show for it. And I guess I've been feeling a bit of that lately, particularly career wise. Polly's response centers on shame, a word I often steer clear of because woof, it really hits me in my gut. But she offers a different approach to shame - not the typical route of allowing "shame [to] turn every emotion into the manifestation of some personality flaw, every casual choice into a giant mistake, every small blunder into a moral failure." Instead she invites us to be curious about our shame and step into our light. It's a sort of lengthy read, but I truly enjoyed it and feel better for having read it. (Thank you Ananth for sharing with me.)
That whole banana thing Art Basel was pretty cool? Crazy? Dumb? Entertaining? It was something, that's for sure. All that said, the replacement art is way better.
I love words. And even more than words, I love feelings. And there really aren't words for all the feelings we have. That can make it especially difficult trying to explain things across cultures. Check out this lexicography of positive words to add to your emotional language repertoire.
I can't quite remember how I stumbled across Andrea Dezsö's art, but I'm glad I did. The multi-disciplinary artist has an extreme talent for details and the minutiae.
