In Praise Of Failure

Lauren Lyerla
March 25, 2012

Reading
Selections from The Fringe Benefits of Failure, JK Rowling's Commencement Address at Harvard University, 2008
Story For All Ages: The Empty Pot by Demi
When the Chinese emperor proclaims that his successor will be the child who grows the most beautiful flowers from
the seeds the emperor distributes, Ping is overjoyed. Like the emperor, he loves flowers and anything he plants bursts
into bloom. But the emperor's seed will not grow, despite months of loving care, and Ping goes before the emperor
carrying only his empty pot. The emperor ignores the beautiful blossoms brought by the other children and chooses
Ping, revealing that the seeds he handed out had been cooked and could not grow. Summary by Eleanor K.
MacDonald, Beverly Hills Public Library Copyright 1990 Reed Business Information, Inc.
Message: In Praise of Failure
Seven years after graduating university, JK Rowling was a self-described failure. Seven YEARS? Pfft. I don't think
it took me even seven WEEKS.
At 22, I graduated from Washington University's business school with a concentration in marketing, a minor in
writing, a respectable 3.3 GPA, and some glowing letters of recommendation. Sadly, my only job offer was selling
life insurance on straight commission. I just couldn't do it. Instead, I took a temp job: Data entry. Way to use that
pricey education! I had gotten what was commonly believed to be a very good education at a very good university in
a very practical field, yet I had resoundingly struck out in the job market. To make matters worse, I had no money.
Actually, I had LESS than no money: I owed tens of thousands of dollars on student loans. I owned a mattress, some
clothing, a desk, a typewriter, and an unabridged dictionary, and was driving a used Dodge Omni, on which I owed
still more money. I'd thought my recipe for success was idiot-proof, but somehow, I'd failed. Big time. My dear
father, meaning well, said, "You could always come home to Florida, live with us, and get your old job back,
checking groceries at SuperX." Um...no. No, I couldn't.
A kind classmate, Denise, and her partner Ann, offered their spare room, rent-free. I took it. I wish I could report
that I set my typewriter on my desk in that spare room and wrote a novel even a fraction as brilliant as JK Rowling's
"Harry Potter" novels. But my story isn't as magical as Rowling's. I just trudged along, trying to do the next right
thing.
My dad sent my resume to a business contact in Atlanta, who sent it to a colleague in St. Louis, resulting in an
interview and a job offer - sales again. As my options were slim, and this job, at least, paid a modest salary, I
signed on. It was soul-crushing work, mostly telemarketing office supplies, and it still felt like failure: I'd needed
Daddy's help to get a job. I was simultaneously grateful for his help, and humiliated that I'd needed it.
Eventually, having imposed too long on Denise and Ann's hospitality, I pulled a tab off a roommate wanted sign
on campus, and wound up sharing a cockroach-infested apartment in Dogtown with a Tunisian chemical engineering
grad student, who spent much of his free time getting trashed in bars on the east side. However, my half of the rent
was only $137.50 a month, utilities included. I stayed 7 months, which felt longer. After that, I did spend the next
year in a far nicer place, splitting a townhouse apartment with friends from Wash U. Still hated my job, but at least
home life was better.
At 24, I decided that since my practical degree had done me so little good, I would try following my bliss, instead. I
took out even more student loans and went to University of Missouri St. Louis for a Masters in English. I loved grad
school, though my lodging those years was awful: Cheap rooms rented from one crazy landlord after another. But
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just before I graduated, I managed to parlay my part-time job at a medical book store into a marketing position, one
I'd keep for the next decade. Four years after graduating Wash U, I finally had a job I actually liked and my own tiny
studio apartment in the Loop, and felt moderately successful. There have been some ups and downs since then, but
nothing as confidence-shaking as those first months out of college. (Knock on wood!)
My experiences taught me that failure is a process, not a person. You can fail at doing something, but that doesn't
make YOU a failure. When you say "I am a failure" instead of "I failed," you feel worthless. You feel shame.
S.H.A.M.E.: Should Have Already Mastered Everything. And my friends, that is not a very Unitarian Universalist
approach. YOU have, as every good UU knows, intrinsic, inherent worth and dignity, even when you fail.
Remember the movie Apollo 13? Failure is not an option! A fine motto in a specific, limited situation, but not as
an overarching philosophy. Not only is failure definitely an option, failure is, in fact, inevitable. Quoting JK
Rowling again: It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as
well not have lived at all in which case, you fail by default. Failure doesn't mean something is fundamentally
wrong with you, or the universe is out to get you. Failure is natural; commonplace.
According to Unitarian Universalist minister David Hubner, the nineteenth-century Universalists "understood very
well that failure was part of the human condition. But they also believed deeply that God was good enough to save us
all." Universalism says that no matter how often or how grandly we fail, we will not be eternally damned for it. We
will not be excluded from grace, in this life or whatever might come after. Rev. Hubner suggests that modern UUs
tend toward unrealistic expectations of perfection, and could benefit from working "a bit harder to build into our
theology and our lives a deeper appreciation that being human means not only aspiration and hope, but also failure
and loss."
Though failure is common to all of us, it is also different for each of us. Rowling failed, she said, by any
conventional measure, every usual standard. More importantly, she had failed in her own eyes, as I had failed in
mine. One thought kept me from complete despair: I was still on my own. Horribly in debt? Absofrickinlutely.
Freeloading at a friend's house, or living in squalor with a drunk Tunisian, or renting a room in the home of someone
who, frankly, seemed unstable? Yup. Accepting help from my parents toward my student loan payments? Yes, bless
them. But living in the big city, surviving. Getting by with a little help, and so on. I now understand that my father
wanted me to know that no matter what, I would be okay: I wouldn't starve, wouldn't be homeless. I had a safe place
to regroup while continuing to look for work in my field. But at 22 years old, chock full of ego and pride, I didn't
hear that. I heard, "You blew it. Give it up." Moving into Dad's house and cashiering at Super-X again, the job I'd
done at 16 without a high school diploma, let alone a college degree, THAT would have felt not just like failure, but
like an EPIC FAIL. In hindsight, it wouldn't have been so bad. I loved my family, and I actually LOVED that job.
But at the time, I really needed to prove to myself that my 4 years of intense effort and study (and my enormous
debt) were somehow WORTH it. I'd worked hard to get out of my little hometown, and had no plans to run back
with my tail between my legs. Failure is about where YOU draw the line, and I'd drawn it in a place that meant I
would NOT go in a direction I perceived as backwards.
Now, if you're the one that draws the line defining failure, you have to ask yourself -- Can you ever measure up to
your own standards? Particularly if you have a perfectionist streak (not that anyone HERE would have one of
those!), but if you did... you'd need to make sure your criteria for success were realistic, before you called something
a failure.
Also remember that you are not all-powerful your efforts might fail for plenty of reasons that have NOTHING to
do with you. You don't control the economy, for example. Nor do you, no matter how fervently you wish you could,
control other people. While you must take responsibility for your actions and choices, you don't need to punish
yourself for failing. In good UU fashion, show kindness and compassion, even to yourself. After all, maybe your
seeds were cooked before you even started.
But it's okay! Failure is not just something to bear, but something you can celebrate! By the time you leave here
today, I hope you will be raring to go out and fail enthusiastically at something.

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Once you learn to bypass the beating-yourself-up impulse, you can see that failure is a fantastic teaching tool. In
fact, though it's hard on the parents, as kids grow up, it's important for them to fail sometimes, so they can think
about what went wrong and why, improving their odds of success on their next try.
Failure is also a shot in the arm that inoculates us against complacency. Natural talent, for example, is not always the
best predictor of success. Did you ever know a braniac who only pulled Bs in school, while someone without that
level of brain power got higher grades? Remember those old Avis car rental ads: We're #2. We try harder.
Without proper motivation and challenge, geniuses can easily get bored and apathetic, coasting along, instead of
pushing themselves. A little failure now and then keeps things interesting. But being identified so strongly with
academic success often makes geniuses terrified to fail, less willing to take chances. I read about a teacher who told
her students, If you don't make 10 mistakes a day, you aren't trying hard enough. Imagine living your life that
way, how freeing it could be if you didn't have to play it safe, if you felt you could risk being... more.
Paradoxically, failure, just when it seems to be making us less, can help us discover ourselves as more. You
can't define yourself by your job if you're let go. Or by your marriage, if your marriage fails. Or by your nice car or
respectable address if your finances take a really bad turn. Who are you without those things? You're still you. You
might even find that you are revealed to yourself more deeply than ever before. Failure can teach us to find meaning
and happiness in things more eternal than possessions or roles, or even our physical selves. The failure of our bodies,
whether sudden or gradual, is inevitable, too, and can cause a big shift in perspective. Though it might be hard to
imagine, some people actually find themselves grateful for a devastating disease or accident because it wakes them
up to life, to who they are, and what is really important.
Along with a truer sense of self, failure can help us see others in a new light, as well. Failure makes us less
judgmental, more generous. Author Brian McLaren writes, the person who never makes a mistake ... is often a
compassionless person, because he sees people for whom the wheels have fallen off and he wonders what's wrong
with them. But the person who feels that he has ruined his life often has more capacity for humility and
compassion. As you might guess, I object to his person who never makes a mistake." I don't believe that person
exists. Some, certainly, make fewer mistakes than others. But more to the point, some people don't own up to their
mistakes. They are so afraid of failure that they become enormously adept at shifting the blame, not taking
responsibility for any part of their failings. Those people tend to have little compassion for the rest of us, who live in
the juicier world of our own fallibility. Most of us, because we accept our failings at least some of the time, have
more empathy for people for whom the wheels have fallen off. There, but for the grace of God, go I, we say,
and we help others in need.
Failure can even help us learn to find inner peace. Doesn't that sound nuts? Failure tends to makes us feel desperate
-- not peaceful! But that's because of our habit of taking failure personally. So: Imagine you open a business. You
do market research, find a good location, establish a dynamic and useful website, advertise, make good use of social
media, hire the right people and train them well. But you can't control your competitors, market trends, the economy,
natural disasters, or the rate of technological innovation, any of which could make your business fail. So consider
the Serenity prayer: Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I
can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Consider Buddhism's nonattachment to outcomes: Naturally, you
prefer your business to thrive, rather than bleed money. But, aware that you cannot control the outcome, you do
what you can to the best of your ability. You work hard to keep your business viable, and... see what happens. You
have to be willing to invest yourself completely in your effort.... but not the outcome. Your best, at the end of the
day, has to be good enough to present to the Emperor, so even if your pot is empty, carry it with pride. If you've put
your all into it, chances are that someone has noticed, and, like for Ping in our story, new opportunities may be
coming your way that wouldn't be there were it not for this experience.
We all want to do well in our endeavors. That's normal, and commendable. I expect people around me to be doing
their best. I expect safe cars and airplanes, not to mention drivers and pilots. I want functional software, able
customer service, teachers who know their subjects, doctors who accurately diagnose illnesses, and financial
managers who won't lose my retirement funds. If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing well. We take that as a
given.
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But what if I told you that if a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing poorly?
For example: I will never, no matter how much I want to, be able to sing like member Lauren Mackey. I will never
be able to run as far or as fast as member Mark Fish or my husband, Tim. Those are their gifts, not mine. But does
this mean that I should not sing? Not run? No. Some things, arts and sports being two good examples, are worth
doing purely for the pleasure of doing them, regardless of one's level of success. I fully intend to keep singing in my
perfectly mediocre voice and running, slowly, a few miles at a time, and having fun doing it.
Another example: For literally decades now, I have believed that I have, buried somewhere deep inside me, a funky
bass diva. I have, on two occasions, bought a bass guitar, and not followed through with plans to learn to play. I
mean, what if I try, only to discover that I am not the next Bootsy Collins or Stanley Clarke? So what! I need to get
over myself and just... learn. And practice. And PLAY. Because even if I suck at it, I may well find myself having
fun, learning something , making new friends, developing a deeper appreciation for music, or some other worthwhile
result.
What else might I do if I am not so worried about succeeding? What else is worth doing, even if I can't do it as well
as I'd like?
How about... working for justice and equality? Our society's problems seem so big most of the time, I don't know
what to do or where to start, and, frankly, that makes it easy to do nothing. No matter how passionate I am about gay,
lesbian, bisexual, and transgender rights, I can't fix the injustices. All those Trevor Project videos on You Tube,
saying It gets better? I want to make it better! I can't. My sphere of influence is very small. But that doesn't mean
I shouldn't do what I can. My efforts, though they have little to no impact on public opinion and public policy, have
worth.
Every good effort we can make toward our goals is worth it. If we can avoid complacency, keep taking one more
step, learning from our efforts, inspiring others to take steps too, we can make a difference.
So go on! Find something worth doing, whether it's playing guitar or writing a novel or feeding the hungry. And
then do it. Even if you do it poorly. Even if your goal seems so unreachable, you think people might laugh at you
for trying. Give it your all, even though you might wind up going to the palace with an empty pot. Give it your best
effort, and let the results be what they will. You may fail. But through the wisdom gained and the experience of
trying, you may also find new freedom, perhaps even the keys to the palace.

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