That thing called failure

Do you ever imagine a version of yourself that's different - better - than the current you? The one that confidently talks in front of massive crowds to resounding applause. The one that writes stories that'd make J.K. Rowling proud, or even envious. The one that travels across the world and records their experiences in a blog that millions of unknown individuals follow. The one that plants thousands of trees, cleans up an entire lake, cuts up a mountain, and goes down in history (or at least, on Facebook) as one of those inspiring tales that people read about. The one that takes risks, tries new things, puts themselves out there, fails, succeeds, experiences life in that crazy exhausting way that you repeatedly tell yourself you want - all the while as you sit in front of the TV and watch the rerun of that Friends' episode for the twentieth time, taking the much needed time for relaxation after that hour-long ride home from that job you've now become comfortable with?

If your response to any of these questions was yes, then here's something I'd love to know: what do you actually do about it?

Recently, I sat with a friend at a familiar bar, with a lime juice, water and pizza between us (de-perks of driving), and had my entire life analyzed and deconstructed bit by bit. Said friend also happens to be that critical feedback buddy I had mentioned in the last post (let's call her J), and given my wonderful relationship with vulnerability, this clearly was a conversation that in hindsight should have begun with a few glasses of vodka.

The conversation ranged from where we are in life right now, the things we want to do, the things we hesitate in doing, the reasons for that hesitation, and other such happy topics. And a basic question that we kept coming back to was: what's stopping me from doing all the crazy and not-so-crazy things I want to do?

Now, I pride myself on being rather self-aware: I'm always thinking about the reasons I do what I do, and the things I wish I were doing but am scared to. I already knew the answer to this question. I know how this tiny thing called fear has permeated in bits and pieces into almost every aspect of my life, clawing its way out in the most random situations. It's not something I'm proud of, but it is something I'm aware of. So, at the very least, the conversation was fairly amusing as J struck upon a series of earth-shattering realizations about me (with all the fervor of a psychologist finally arriving at the actual diagnosis), only to have me nod along and say, "Yep, that's the case. I'm glad you finally got there!"

I don't think psychologists like it when you tell them you've diagnosed your problem before them.

And then came the much anticipated question: what exactly was I afraid of? Judgment? Failure? A bit of both, I think. In school, I never joined my classmates in basketball despite loving the game because I didn't want to make a fool of myself. Till date, I've avoided presentations with a fervor to not have to put my limited public speaking skills out for the scrutiny of others. Perhaps (though I'm not sure of this one), I haven't signed up for a 10K (or even a 5K) run because I'm not sure I'd make it across the finish line (despite being told by enough runners that this is one of the best ways to push my running). And while I'm very vocal in my campaign against educational assessments and the irrelevance of grades in our lives, I have been known to feel rather bummed when I got a low grade on an assignment.

Do I think failure is bad? In theory, no. In my head, I know failure isn't the end of the world. Hell, I'm pretty sure I even agree with those typical quotes like "Failure is a stepping stone to success." As a teacher, I constantly pushed my students to not worry about making mistakes and to try out the things that scared them. Yet all along, I couldn't get myself to do the same.

I know, the hypocrisy is deafening.

So the next question thrown at me was: What's the worst that'll happen if you fail?

R: Huh? What do you mean? I'll fail!
J : Yes, but...so what?
R: So what means what? It's failing. It doesn't need a 'so what'.
J : Of course it does. Seriously, think about it.
R: Fine...I guess...I'll end up making a fool of myself in front of others...I'll be shattered...Lose confidence in myself and my abilities...Be too scared to try it again...Happy?
J : Or...maybe you'd learn how not to do something and actually improve your skill in it...?
R: ...
J : ...
R: Nope. I'm pretty sure it's the former.

Cheekiness aside, I get it. I get what J was saying. It's same stuff I used to tell my kids. In my head, I know that I can't really learn something without being open to the idea of failing at it. And that's the hard part, isn't it? The idea of working hard on something, and putting it out there for the inspection and scrutiny of others, only to have them tell you that your work is terrible. The struggle of separating criticism of your work from criticism of yourself. The sense that all the effort was for nothing - though deep deep deep down, you know that's not true, that you did learn something from the process of doing and failing, and that the next time, you probably would do a better job of it - if only you can get yourself to try it again.

And that isn't easy. At least, it doesn't seem to be. One of the biggest, scariest things I ever did was join the Teach for India Fellowship. But it wasn't a typical movie-like situation where I rose to the occasion. Hell, I crash landed. All the time. To the extent that when I walked out after two years, I looked back at a lot of those moments and just cringed. The result of this failure was that I actively avoided teaching in any form over the next few years, and it has taken three years of passively studying education to make me want to even consider going back into that arena.

Did I mention that I'm not great at dealing with failure?

In this regard, J is an inspiration. J actively seeks out feedback and criticism in the attempt to get better, and doesn't expect others to mince their words in the process. For J, putting yourself out there and trying out the things you think you're terrible at is the only way to learn and improve, and if the thing standing in your way is the fear of looking like an idiot, then, well, you're giving far too much importance to yourself (there's a reason I call her my critical feedback buddy!). So it's rather flabbergasting to her that someone can be so aware of their weaknesses and fears, and not do anything about it.

Basically, J is that breath of fresh, annoying perspective that constantly tries to prod, nudge, push and downright tackle me out of my comfort zone.

And continuing with that tradition, when J realized that I haven't failed enough in life because I haven't tried enough things, she ended our conversation by declaring that the only way for me to deal with this is to fail at many more things.

Subsequently, this person I call a friend proudly and excitedly began coming up with a list of things for me to fail at.

Here's to Writing...Again

I love writing. Okay, maybe that's a bit strong. But I definitely enjoy it. Yet in the last couple of years, I don't think I've written even a dozen times. And I've been wondering why that is.

It's not from a lack of things to write about - my head's constantly spinning with thoughts and opinions and judgments.

I sometimes tell myself that it's because I started writing whatever I wanted to in emails to a friend, so the motivation to transfer all that into a blog didn't feel all that strong.

But if I'm being completely honest here (which I usually hope I am), it's because I'm scared.

You see, a lot of people like to write because the act of writing itself makes them happy. That really isn't the case with me. For me, writing isn't a private act. It's not a diary filled with my thoughts where just the ink on the paper provides me with a sense of catharsis.

For me, writing is about communication. And that means there's a reader on the other end.

People who know me well enough would know that I'm terrible at talking. Like Chandler Bing, I'm socially awkward when it comes to conversations. I usually never know what to say, or if I do, I struggle with articulating it. While most people think on their feet, I think on my ass. I need time to gather my thoughts, and then present them in a way that I have some control over.

And that's writing.

So while I do enjoy the act of writing, for me it is really about getting my thoughts out to others. Thoughts that I think are important, worth stating, and hopefully, worth reading. And given that I don't do a great job of conveying those thoughts orally, the pressure of conveying them well through the written word is...well...a little high.

The downside of this, however, is that I'm also overly reliant on others 'liking' what I read. And I don't just mean the Facebook click. There's a sense of vulnerability associated with putting my thoughts and opinions out there. This works really well if the post is received positively, but also has the ability to cause me to shrivel up and want to delete the post at the first sign of disagreement.

Admittedly, this just means that I need to toughen up and learn how to take critical feedback - an important skill that we're not taught enough of [more on this and my critical feedback buddy in a later post].

But a part of this hesitation also arises from this new trend of 'trolling' that seems to be getting so popular. As much as I hate it, I often find myself reading through the comments of random people in articles that I like, and the level of nastiness in them is just alarming. The number of personal attacks that people today feel comfortable launching on unknown others is messed up. How can you possibly 'troll' a person who speaks out about their experience of sexual assault?! With each passing the day online, my level of disgust at humanity rises, and as a side-effect, so does my fear of writing.

Yet deep down, I know that fear is unfounded. Hell, it could even just be an excuse to cover up my laziness - I'm not sure. But the fact that I'm writing on my blog after three months is confounding, and I really feel the need to find something to blame (other than myself of course).

So what really inspired me to write again today? Well, it was a challenge posed by a fellow writer / cousin / friend [I really do need to stop waiting around for these challenges to write each year]. For those who might be interested, it's a happiness challenge [read this and this].

And while I don't see myself resorting to excel sheets to track my happiness any time soon, I figured the one thing I really should get on with is the one thing I've been delaying for a while now: this blog.

So, here's hoping that this post will be the trigger of many others to come. One a week. One a day. One whenever a thought pops into my head. Whatever it takes. No more waiting around for it to be perfect. No more worrying about what others think of it (at least, pretending not to).

And hopefully, somewhere along the way, learning to add my two cents again.