This is my first post on LinkedIn, so please: be brutal and merciless in your comments. First, thanks for even opening this. I am going to assume this is being read by maybe 5 people, so thanks, 5 people reading! This wasn’t written by anyone else; this is me typing at my computer at 12 on a Wednesday. A little about myself: I’m finishing up a Ph.D. in Political Science and I started a non-profit, Peacebuilding Solutions, in 2008. That’s not why I’m writing though. I’m writing because I’m a failure. Many times over. And I want to tell you why that’s all right, and why failure isn’t as bad as people think it is.
This is my third career. That’s right, third. I’m 36 now, and my first two careers went down in flames, I must admit. First it was medical school. I got my degree in Chemistry from a decent school, and I thought my future was set. 8 hours doing a rotation at the university hospital taught me otherwise: I must have lost 3 pounds throwing up. I had a pathological fear of blood and fluids so medical school definitely wasn’t for me. I tried to do industrial chemistry but that was just too boring for me. I ended up drifting from low paying job to low paying job, alcohol numbing the pain for a bit as I realized that my dream wasn’t going to happen. I’d never be a medical doctor. I’d never save lives, and there was nothing I could do about it.
That was career one. Mercifully, it was short. And it was the first big failure of my life. I took it very hard as you can easily see. But I did learn one thing: medicine wasn’t for me, and I was kidding myself if I thought otherwise. So. Back to the drawing board.
I started teaching high school. Career two. I lasted three years. The students loved me; I still have students from that part of my life telling me that they actually enjoyed chemistry when I taught it. Who knew that someone would actually enjoy chemistry? But teaching wasn’t for me either. By the third year, I was completely burnt out and it showed: sloppy lesson plans, lack of energy… lack of passion. It wasn’t for me. Even my students told me my heart wasn’t in it anymore. So I asked the principal to move me to another subject, possibly history as I always had a social studies interest. I was told there were no jobs there, so I quit. I went to grad school (which sad to say I’m still in but the end is in sight, I am happy to report).
That was career two, and it was a failure too. I only lasted three years and I was terrible at it. By this point I was in my late 20s and had two failed careers behind me. 0 for 2. As any sports fan will tell you, those aren’t the best numbers.
So grad school it was. At first I wanted to just get a master’s in education; maybe make some more money at the career I wasn’t good at. I lasted a semester. I wasn’t cut out for that, either.
Massive failure number three. Second one in a year. It was looking grim. I started taking classes in the political science department at Georgia State University as they had graciously allowed me to transfer over.
Then, I fell in love. I soaked up this discipline with gusto and fervor. And I was good at it. I knocked out the Master’s program and stuck around for the Ph.D. While in school, I founded Peacebuilding Solutions. You’re welcome to look it up if you’d like; I won’t bore you with the details here but suffice it to say I found something that when I wake up in the morning and I look in the mirror I get to think:
My job is great. I’m helping people by letting them help themselves.
I went to Haiti earlier this year to finish up some field work and I talked with the community we’re going to help. When I told them what we were going to do with them, they started clapping.
Money can’t buy that.
Am I a failure? Yes. Absolutely. Many times over. Will I fail again? Oh God yes. More times than I can imagine. But failure is one of life’s great lessons. Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t want to learn.
I hope I fail again. Many times. Failing my first 30 years of life gave me more lessons than any book or any school ever could. And I am grateful I had the opportunity to fail so often.
Just remember: failure is a crucible that forges us. You’re welcome to stay the lump of iron you are, or you can use it to forge yourself (with some good carbon, of course) into a strong steel plowshare or sword (feel free to choose the metaphor that fits you best).
Thanks for reading. Feel free to contact me.
I’m going to go fail again. I invite you to do the same.
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