Because Sometimes You Fail

In fourth grade, I became a daredevil at recess, and it was glorious.

 You know, the tall metal slides that cooked small children as they rocketed toward the never-drying puddle at the bottom? Okay, yeah, those slides. Now that you can picture it let me tell you the details of our recess antics. If you stood under the stairs and grabbed really high up on the poles that supported the slide, you could walk up the inside of the ladder and flip over. For a moment, I knew what astronauts felt like, floating freely and flipping through the air (hey, it was before Cirque de Soleil). I would wait my turn and flip, then get back in line. We were daring and inventive; after all, who uses playground equipment for simple playing?

 Then disaster struck.

Just as I began to push off into my flip, some girl stepped on my foot. Said girl was climbing up the ladder to slide down the slide…you know, to use it as intended. Well, she stepped on my foot.

I don’t know if it was the shock or the momentary discomfort that interrupted my execution, but something did, and I fell. No flipping. No flying. Just gravity having its way with me, and fourth-grade Wendy crumbled to the ground when all of her weight landed on her wrist. (After hours in the nurse’s office and at the ER, it turned out the wrist was just badly sprained.)

I learned my first lesson in the price of daring greatly. I wouldn’t have fallen if I hadn’t been in a place I could fall from. I wouldn’t have fallen if I hadn’t sampled the glory of flying and flipping.

I’ve fallen a lot since fourth grade – literally and figuratively. I’ve thrown myself into plans, jobs, relationships, ministries, vacations, and hair-brained schemes, hoping for success. Often, I’ve tasted dirt and had to nurse my wounds after.

And many times, I’ve soared and then searched for the next opportunity. The next chance to dare greatly and do something fantastic in the next chapter of my life.

Then, this year, I’ve stumbled, fallen, and failed – as I watch debt pile up from a failing business venture, as others make me feel ashamed for asking questions, as I have wrestled with unmet expectations and harsh realities. I landed on my pride and lay exhausted in the dirt.

That’s where I write from today, lying in the dirt. Nursing my wounds.

Afraid of the critics. Tired of defending myself. Ashamed of the cost of my failures. I had decided I would hide my failures and slide into the new year quietly licking my wounds.

The truth is there is some measure of success in failure. (go with me for a minute) To fail, I had to put myself out there. I had to try. And I did.

I jumped into trying to sell art, photography, and some crafts. I love to paint and take photos (and often get compliments on them), so I felt sure this could be a great venture. I sold one painting, three prints (deeply discounted printed versions of original watercolor paintings), and one photograph. The rest of my sales have been me trying to see if I could create things people would buy….sometimes they do. But mostly, they don’t. I felt sure this venture would lead me into a new community full of other artists who would share my love of creating…it hasn’t.

I started a blog series that has seen a modicum of success. While I have enjoyed writing the series, I thought that by telling women’s stories, I would gain more friends, find people who want to know me, and gain community….I’ve met some lovely women, but this has not unlocked relationships or a girl gang.

I tell you this not for pity but to show how I have put myself out there.

And when you put yourself out there, you risk failure.

When you set off on an epic adventure, sometimes you soar to unfathomable heights on a luck dragon (or find family in the fellowship that surrounds you). Sometimes, you find yourself knee-deep in mud, arguing with what got you there (be that horse or dreams).

This year, I tried and failed.

I’ll end the year in debt, with boxes of art no one wanted and dreams I’ll need to let go.

Because, sometimes, you just fail.

Sometimes, no matter how high your hopes, how great your intentions, or how big your dreams are, you wind up lying in the dirt, embarrassed and sore.  

After my wrist healed, I returned to my recesses full of flips and flying. I learned to make sure no one was going to step on me and to tune out everything but the mechanics of the flip.

Because the flying was worth the healing, the flipping was worth the risk.

So, look for more flying and flipping coming soon….