hello, Failure

Happy New Year! (21 days late.)

I’m a little behind the game on this one, but every time I think about writing, I get intimidated by the time that has elapsed since I last wrote, and all of the life that has happened since then. If I don’t write about it, did it happen? It did. And I have photos and memories and feelings about all of it but I have to tell myself that it’s also ok to write about the now and just skip the rest. It existed and it was good, whether it exists on the interwebs or not. Also, nobody notices except me. And now you, if you’re reading this, because I told you.

This seems like a good time to mention that one of my 2020 goals (yes, I am indeed a “New Year new goals” kind of person) is to write more and simultaneously care less about what people think about what I write. Considering I’ve set similar goals previously and they didn’t happen until December 12, January 21 isn’t a bad place to start.

Historically, my New Year’s goals have been more like a year-long to-do list, which, like all of my other to-do lists, are full of things that 1) are generally easily attainable, 2) are almost guaranteed completion, and 3) are occasionally things that I’ve already done but just want the nice feeling of crossing off a list. Come at me. (Also, I’m not a fan of the word “resolutions” for the same reason that I am not a fan of the words “montage” or “sync.” There is no reason.)

Around this time each year, I see a lot of __[insert preferred social medium here]__ posts in which people share their goals and maybe even a recap of the goals they set last year, and how they did. Sometimes when I see these, I feel vulnerable on behalf of other people. Even people I don’t even really know. What if they don’t achieve it? What if they fail and have to put in their recap next year that they didn’t actually complete all of what they set out to? What if they tell the Internet about a goal that they have and then have to show their face and say, “I couldn’t do it?”

My husband and I typically sit down together for a few hours at the end of December or beginning of January in a coffee shop and talk about how we did on our to-do lists from the last year, and take time to write in our journals and discuss the new items for the next year. This year we sat in Napa Valley Roasting Company and it was delicious and nice. After a few hours we met up with my brother and his girlfriend and walked along the sunny riverfront, ate cabernet-flavored chocolate, and talked over one of the best enchiladas I’ve ever had in my life. Two Mexican chocolate brownie bites came with the enchilada and if given the opportunity I would have eaten the entire pan. What was I talking about again? Oh, yes. Goals.

As I described the vulnerability-by-proxy fears I had to Matt, I realized that the real fear is something different: failure. My own failure.

I am not accustomed to failure. Now, that is definitely NOT because I am good at everything I do or because I am perfect. (How absolutely arrogant and ridiculous would that sentence sound without the big, capitalized, emphatic NOT? I’m cringing just thinking about what a disastrous typo that would be.) Nope. I am not accustomed to failure because I have never invited failure into my life. In school, in extracurricular activities, at work. The closest I’ve gotten is that middle school cross country race when they cleaned up the finish line before I made it there, but even that didn’t feel like failure, because nobody can tell how slow you are if they don’t ever see you cross the finish line. And also it was middle school. Nobody cares.

A few weeks ago, when this idea was fresh in my head, I told my friend Eddie that I wanted to invite more failure into my life and he responded with something along the lines of, “well if we’re sending invitations I’d rather see if Success is available first. You don’t need to invite Failure, just act cool if he shows up.” While that is hilarious and exactly how I feel, it is also exactly what I want to snap out of.

Because I have been treating goal-setting in the same way that I treat to-do-list-making, every single goal I set for myself, in writing or not, has always been something that is either not that difficult to do or is going to be achieved regardless. For example, on my list from the beginning of 2019, I wrote things like “compete in Half Ironman Relay” (which was already paid for and on my calendar – the calendar spot is how you know it’s real), “drink more water” (this is stupid and everyone should just be always trying to drink a healthy amount of water), “finish one year as a full-time software engineer” (but I had a job lined up which means this was basically just a reminder to try not to get fired). You get the idea.

Flipping through the pages of previous years’ lists, they are all the same. There is nothing written down that might be impossible or might result in failure. Nothing is high stakes. Nothing might end in shame or embarrassment. Nothing is risky.

Saying it out loud, I realized that this consistent avoidance of failure is hurting me, but it’s also hurting my community. When I started this blog in 2016 for the sole purpose of telling the world that I had an eating disorder and sharing my story through photos, it lifted a massive weight off of my shoulders and I knew it lifted some heavy weights off of others’ shoulders too. For months after, I received messages from friends and acquaintances and people I’d never met telling me how much sharing my experiences helped them. I also started receiving a lot of spam snail mail, but I think that’s because the person who previously lived in the apartment I’d just moved into didn’t forward their mail. Probably unrelated. Anyway, it was one of the coolest things I have ever experienced, and I now understand that failure has the same kind of power.

Another thing on my list this year is finishing two Half Ironman races by myself. One is in June, and one is in September. I don’t mention it publicly often because what if I don’t finish? What if I pay a coach and buy an expensive bike and train my ass off for months on end and just don’t finish? What would people think of me?

I try to be very real on the highlight reel that is social media, but I don’t often share goals or hopes or dreams because I am afraid that if or when they don’t happen or don’t work out, I will face laughter or pointing fingers or “I told you so” or even worse, the grimacing face emoji. You know, the one that you can hear whispering “yikes” while making that inhaling hiss through their teeth noise every time you use it? That one. The reality is, when someone does share publicly or privately that something they worked for or hoped or dreamed for didn’t work out, I have never laughed or pointed fingers or said “I told you so” (except for when my husband  said we didn’t need to get two kittens and later regretted it — in that scenario I did say “I told you so,” because I did). So why do I assume that the people I surround myself with would?

My list this year looks a little different now. It’s still in my journal in my small, sloppy handwriting. But there are different colored asterisks and a clearly labeled key indicating the different levels of risk that the colors indicate. (This should not be surprising.) And now most of them are listed here, for the sake of sharing my goals and hopes and dreams for this year – big and small – and inviting you into whatever success or failure I find in chasing them.

I want to finish two Half Ironman races under the cutoff time.

I want to minimize what I own and be conscious of the consequences (ethical and ecological) of purchases that I make.

I want to drink more water. (This is still stupid, but it’s true and just because I said I wanted more failure doesn’t mean I don’t want a few feel-good cross-offs.)

I want to cook my way straight through a cookbook by my all-time favorite food blogger/author/future Food Network star, Dessert for Two (I believe in you, Christina!!!).

I want to complete two full online courses in cybersecurity- or mathematics-related topics and take a class on food photography (so I can take better photos of all the yummy things I’m about to cook!).

I want to sing more and record at least one song with Matt.

I want to perform some of the many jokes that I write in an actual standup comedy set in front of real life, fully alive human beings (as opposed to animals or dead people, I suppose).

I want to keep improv a high priority in my life and try to perform with a group at one festival this year.

I want to write more, and I want it to leave my brain or notebook or phone, preferably ending up here at least once a month.

I hope that in twelve months’ time I get the chance to tell you what I did, and I also hope I get the chance to tell you what I did not do. Here’s to a year of inviting Failure, and a lifetime of experiencing and enjoying it. (But hey, if Success or anyone else wants to come to the party too, be my guests. There’ll be a lot of wine.)