In praise of failure
This is a follow on from a conversation on someone else’s FB and my finding the CV of Failure that a Princeton professor wrote a while ago online again.
Today I have been thinking about the failures that at one point felt soul destroying. But which, with time, I’ve come to realize were the best things that could have happened to me. There are many, but for simplicity, I list the top three here for you.
The Failure: I didn’t get into Oxford. This was devastating at the time. I was one of the bright kids in school. I’d won a prize for my GCSE, got 95% plus in exams. I was meant to go to Oxford. That was the plan. Yeah, I’d applied to other places but hadn’t seriously thought about them. Then LSE and Edinburgh turned me down too. OK, so Bristol wanted me, as did UEA, but that wasn’t the same. I felt like a total failure. Like everything I thought I was, was a lie.
The Outcome: I took a GAP year. It hadn’t been the plan, but lacking a coherent alternative strategy, it seemed like a good move. I could reapply to Oxford, perhaps? And in the meantime, I’d do something worthy. I hadn’t really thought about being worthy before, but it was the kind of thing nice middle class kids did in 1996 while they were finding themselves. I decided to go to Nepal because it looked pretty. Six months later, I knew two things I’d never really thought about before. Firstly, I knew the world was a really big place and I wanted to see it all. Secondly, I knew the world had a lot of stuff that needed fixing and I thought I could help with that. In retrospect, those two realisations have done more to shape my life than almost anything else.
The Failure: I was trying to get into full time charity fundraising and applied for a job at an international development policy unit in Oxford. I got an interview, went there, and tried out a line that had been recommended to me by some recruitment consultant or other. The line was “do you think I have the skills I need for this role?”. They interpreted it as me pushing for a second interview and so turned me down, telling the recruiter I was the best candidate on paper but they didn’t like my attitude. I really wanted that job. I cried myself silly when I got that feedback. It felt so unfair. I was doing what I’d been told to do. How could that be so wrong?
The Outcome: I took some time off from job hunting, from interviews, from everything, and went back to London for a few weeks to spend some time with Jez. We’d been going through a rough patch at that point, hence living apart, but going back helped. We talked. We connected. I bought silly pink animal print pajamas from Tesco in Surrey Quays and stayed in Goblintown again, for the first time since we had a massive blow out. And we took the first concrete steps towards being a couple again. After that, I spent nearly every weekend in Goblintown until I moved back in full time. And now we’re engaged and our relationship is better than it ever has been before. Plus the salary for the Oxford job was abysmal. I get paid much more in the job I’m in now.
The Failure: About three years ago I spent a week in a psych ward, under semi-voluntary admission. By semi-voluntary, I was asked nicely if I’d agree to go and stay in the ward for a bit in order to save everyone the paperwork involved with sectioning me. I remember walking into the ward, clutching my bag to my chest. I felt very small, very broken, and very much like a failure. I remember thinking ‘so this is rock bottom? How did I get to this?’
The Outcome: In retrospect, that hospital stay was the first step on the path to the biggest and longest period of sanity I’ve ever had in my life. First of all, it meant that I wasn’t just relying on my GP for care with my mental health anymore. A hospital stay bounces you up and out of that regime very quickly, in my experience. I spent a week in the hospital and four months under the care of the home treatment team. After that, no one was expecting me to live without proper support any more. I had a psychiatrist who remembered my name, a named case worker who was there to keep an eye on me and phone regularly. Later minor episodes were rapidly jumped on - medication was adapted, I was talked through ways of monitoring my mood, jez had phone numbers to call where people picked up. And when I moved to Glasgow, I was referred directly to a new psychiatrist. I genuinely believe without that stay in hospital I’d be dead now, instead of living the life I’ve got. And I also got a load of awesome new stories.
I shall carry on doing this occasionally. It’s quite soothing to see how many of my failures have worked out well for me.
What about you? What are your biggest failures and why are you glad you screwed that one up?
Today I have been thinking about the failures that at one point felt soul destroying. But which, with time, I’ve come to realize were the best things that could have happened to me. There are many, but for simplicity, I list the top three here for you.
The Failure: I didn’t get into Oxford. This was devastating at the time. I was one of the bright kids in school. I’d won a prize for my GCSE, got 95% plus in exams. I was meant to go to Oxford. That was the plan. Yeah, I’d applied to other places but hadn’t seriously thought about them. Then LSE and Edinburgh turned me down too. OK, so Bristol wanted me, as did UEA, but that wasn’t the same. I felt like a total failure. Like everything I thought I was, was a lie.
The Outcome: I took a GAP year. It hadn’t been the plan, but lacking a coherent alternative strategy, it seemed like a good move. I could reapply to Oxford, perhaps? And in the meantime, I’d do something worthy. I hadn’t really thought about being worthy before, but it was the kind of thing nice middle class kids did in 1996 while they were finding themselves. I decided to go to Nepal because it looked pretty. Six months later, I knew two things I’d never really thought about before. Firstly, I knew the world was a really big place and I wanted to see it all. Secondly, I knew the world had a lot of stuff that needed fixing and I thought I could help with that. In retrospect, those two realisations have done more to shape my life than almost anything else.
The Failure: I was trying to get into full time charity fundraising and applied for a job at an international development policy unit in Oxford. I got an interview, went there, and tried out a line that had been recommended to me by some recruitment consultant or other. The line was “do you think I have the skills I need for this role?”. They interpreted it as me pushing for a second interview and so turned me down, telling the recruiter I was the best candidate on paper but they didn’t like my attitude. I really wanted that job. I cried myself silly when I got that feedback. It felt so unfair. I was doing what I’d been told to do. How could that be so wrong?
The Outcome: I took some time off from job hunting, from interviews, from everything, and went back to London for a few weeks to spend some time with Jez. We’d been going through a rough patch at that point, hence living apart, but going back helped. We talked. We connected. I bought silly pink animal print pajamas from Tesco in Surrey Quays and stayed in Goblintown again, for the first time since we had a massive blow out. And we took the first concrete steps towards being a couple again. After that, I spent nearly every weekend in Goblintown until I moved back in full time. And now we’re engaged and our relationship is better than it ever has been before. Plus the salary for the Oxford job was abysmal. I get paid much more in the job I’m in now.
The Failure: About three years ago I spent a week in a psych ward, under semi-voluntary admission. By semi-voluntary, I was asked nicely if I’d agree to go and stay in the ward for a bit in order to save everyone the paperwork involved with sectioning me. I remember walking into the ward, clutching my bag to my chest. I felt very small, very broken, and very much like a failure. I remember thinking ‘so this is rock bottom? How did I get to this?’
The Outcome: In retrospect, that hospital stay was the first step on the path to the biggest and longest period of sanity I’ve ever had in my life. First of all, it meant that I wasn’t just relying on my GP for care with my mental health anymore. A hospital stay bounces you up and out of that regime very quickly, in my experience. I spent a week in the hospital and four months under the care of the home treatment team. After that, no one was expecting me to live without proper support any more. I had a psychiatrist who remembered my name, a named case worker who was there to keep an eye on me and phone regularly. Later minor episodes were rapidly jumped on - medication was adapted, I was talked through ways of monitoring my mood, jez had phone numbers to call where people picked up. And when I moved to Glasgow, I was referred directly to a new psychiatrist. I genuinely believe without that stay in hospital I’d be dead now, instead of living the life I’ve got. And I also got a load of awesome new stories.
I shall carry on doing this occasionally. It’s quite soothing to see how many of my failures have worked out well for me.
What about you? What are your biggest failures and why are you glad you screwed that one up?