Go ahead and Fail

I believe in many things: love, laughter, music, and even miracles. But most of all, I believe in the power of failure. Success is overrated. It is better to make a mistake and learn from it than to never make a mistake at all. And for me, the best thing about failing is that no matter what, you can come back a stronger, better person for your mistakes.

My junior year, I experienced crushing failure for the first time. Back then, I thought I had to be perfect; mistakes would not be tolerated, and if I did make one, I certainly wasn’t about to admit it. I went through the first few months of junior year operating under this mindset. I was constantly stressed out and rushed, and I felt like I was losing the part of me that knew how to have fun. But all that didn’t matter as long as I was perfect. And then the news came: my grandfather had died after almost a year of battling stomach cancer. My family and I were devastated, and my mom took the news really harshly.

For the next few months I lived with the stress and grief of losing a beloved family member, the pressure of AP classes and band competitions, and the expectations of my classmates. I went about my days hiding the fact that I was suffering, pretending that I was fine so that my friends and classmates wouldn’t know that I wasn’t perfect. I was convinced that to admit I was feeling down would somehow mean that I had failed, and I was determined not to slip up. Days and weeks passed by of me holding my emotions and weaknesses inside, holding up a flawless façade of perfection. Yet my mask wasn’t perfect. My friends had noticed that I wasn’t my normal self and often complained that I was moody and that my temper seemed to get shorter by the day. My performances in my classes were slipping, but I couldn’t bring myself to care because that would mean admitting something was wrong. Soon, I had dug myself into a hole that I couldn’t seem to get out of. Finally, a friend sat me down and had a long talk with me. She had gone through the pain and stress of dealing with the death of a family member as well as keeping up with the rest of her life. She told me that I didn’t need to be perfect. I was allowed to make mistakes. I was allowed to be cry and let other people see. I was allowed to fail. It meant I was human. I learned that trying to be perfect was more harmful to me than admitting I had made mistakes in coping with my emotions and stress.

I believe in failing. I believe in falling to the bottom, in stumbling into that proverbial pit of despair, in breaking down so badly that it doesn’t seem like you’ll ever be fixed. So go ahead and fail spectacularly. And then get back up on your feet and learn to stand again. You’ll be a stronger person for it. And this I believe.