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You know that terrible feeling of putting a ton of effort into planning something, thinking you’ve accounted for every detail, and having it go horribly wrong? It’s something I think we’ve all been through, and something nobody looks forward to. But our relationship with failure says volumes about our worldview and perception of self-worth, and it’s something that is definitely worth exploring.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this over the past couple of weeks. I recently had a high-profile work event I had been planning for months that didn’t go as expected. As a result, I received very negative feedback. My immediate reaction is what I think most people would go through: shame, fear, embarrassment, and wanting to get it over with as soon as possible so I could put it behind me.
After that initial wave of emotion, though, I took a conscious step back. I wanted (and needed) to sit with that failure, look it in the eye, and assess it. Most importantly, I needed to separate the failure itself from what I attached to it.
I reminded myself of the design process, in which failure plays an integral part. Studying design in school and practicing design professionally taught me that failure itself is not inherently positive or negative. What it always is, though, is a learning opportunity. Conceptually that makes sense—less so when you’re going through it.
Failure is everywhere—and that’s a good thing
This is true in any industry. What we as consumers see is the final product of a long line of ideation, testing, refining. Any product that makes it to market has gone through R&D, focus groups, surveys, market research, etc. All of its versions before the final product could be considered failures, or they could be considered what they are: iterations, creative explorations, a move in the right direction. Even something that doesn’t lead to the final product can teach you something by telling you what not to do.
My recent visit to the Louvre also got me thinking about this, because this same concept is true about art. At the Louvre, it’s so easy to be distracted by these incredible masterpieces, and think their creators were geniuses who easily painted, sculpted, or created their pieces. But the truth is that even geniuses had to hone their craft. Every “failure” led them to their masterpieces.
The connection between failure and shame or discouragement is something we learn, not something we’re born with. Think about babies learning to walk: they don’t feel embarrassed they can’t walk on their first try! They fall, look adorable while doing it, pick themselves up and try again until they learn. We’re resilient and gritty by nature, and I’m trying to more consciously channel that.
I’ve done a lot of work personally to internalize that when something I do fails, it doesn’t mean that I am a failure. In a similar way, I can be responsible for (and held accountable for) things that are not necessarily my fault. And that’s okay! That’s part of being entrusted with certain responsibilities and roles.
Back to that event I mentioned, I was so happy that my team saw that failure the same way I did. My supervisors were gracious in the way they shared the negative feedback we received, acknowledged that a good part of what went wrong was out of my control, and encouraged me to go through a mental exercise on what I would do differently if I were to organize this event again. It was such a relief!
It made me realize that my biggest fear was not the event going wrong, but how it would affect my team and their perception of my work. This was such a lightbulb moment for me, and I’ve been working to explore my relationship with failure even more since then.
How do you deal with failure? What was a failure you learned with and grew from? Share your story—let’s celebrate our growth.