Seventh grade - in a gym lineup of all the new 7th graders, by size of course, I was tail end charlie, smaller then the smallest girl, Shelly Scoggins. My XS gymshorts came to my knees. Loser.
Ninth grade - while working in the school garden over the summer (for brown nose extra credit) I got punched in the face after stepping into a arguement between my friend Tom, and school bully Phil Crone. I backed down and he walked away laughing. Humiliated.
As we get older, our ability to make various sundry excuses and rationalize "non-success" comes much easier: "well, I'll get that promotion next year," "she and I were not really compatible," "I did not really want that job anyway," and the simple but true, "that's life."
We get used to our impotence and incompetence, like water seeking its own level; and therefore being constantly reminded of it does not sting like it did when you are nine-years old. Maybe that's why we switch to sports like golf, where there is no clear winner or loser, its all relative, you play a little better or a little worse each time out. You begin to see things in shades of gray.
As I look at my adult non-successes, like my marriage, some bad stock calls, etc, these things seem more like REAL life; part and parcel to the trials of being an adult. Failure comes naturally the more you do. Its also easy to turn these into some life lesson. Note to self: "Well, XYZ failure was all for the best and what I have learned from this will make me a better person," or some nonsense like that.
This way losers can still be winners! Just like those kids soccer tournaments where we hand out trohpies to everyone for playing...its a self-esteem thing. As though with enough self-esteem we can solve all the world's problems, but I digress...
So has failing to climb Kilimanjaro made me any less a man, or a person, or changed who I am deep down? I don't think so. And at some point along the way I realized that; or I just forgot why I chose to climb that bloody mountain in the first place. Then the sting of turning around and giving up diminished, and the comfort of just being myself took over.
What was I trying to prove to myself for the umpteenth time? I, Michael Seto, who led men in combat on the battlefields of Kuwait, who survived the battlefields of Wall Street, who became a better person through ABC and XYZ failures. What did I have to prove? What DO I have to prove anymore? So I failed to climb Kilimanjaro, so what?
I spent much of my life running blindly from the vampire Failure, lest he drain the life's energy from me and my endeavors, tossing me into a heap of lost souls, the pit of irrelevance. I ran and ran towards the light of success in order to escape the dark abyss lurking below its heights, where one mis-step might cast me.
But each mis-step, each misadventure, however brief, into Failure Hell did not destroy me, or emasculate me. Instead, when I embraced the dark ghoul of failure I found him to be an instructive and wise teacher. One to be cautious of, certainly, but not one to be hysterically fearful of. I realized that he and his twin-brother, success, share a close relationship; and that I cannot have one without the other.
So while I do not seek out Failure's company, when he does arrive unannounced at my door, he is welcomed at my table, for I know he bears wisdom for me; and I should be wont to listen.
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