Failure is a choice
When I was 18, a life changing event occurred. I failed my driving license test. In the 2 years prior, I had taken many lessons and driven hundreds of miles with my parents — discouraging them both to ever drive with me again in the process. The day of the test, I had been a very good girl and driven so very cautiously. My hair was braided!
Big deal, right? Well, I remember the clenched teeth and withhold tears. I remember the feelings and sensations. Shock — jaw dropping, frozen look, slumped shoulders: “how can it be?” Shame — blood flowing to my cheeks, tight throat, sunken posture: “what a loser, even my sister passed it on the first shot!” Rage — flared nostrils, clenched fists, energy rushing through my body: “they will see I’m a great driver”. I did not like to feel that way. I also didn’t like that I didn’t like to feel this way: guilt built up — stress, numbness, growing weight on my chest: “I shouldn’t feel this way, this is such a non-event”. This was not OK: I had to change my reality.
I passed the test within days. Fueled with revenge, having nothing to lose and a deeply rooted belief that I was a great driver, I showed up as myself and drove with gusto. When the instructor handed me my license, he advised me to be gentle with the gas pedal. Mission accomplished, box ticked: I could move on to the next achievement. And then to the next. Following a thread of what an accomplished life should look like according to our collective psyche, I was ticking box after box, hoping that at some point, I would arrive, be able to rest and feel better. The moment, of course, never came — but the praise, the advancement, the boxes ticked made up for it, fueling an unquenchable thirst for adrenaline.
I became an addict. Seeking that feel-good adrenaline rush everywhere I could, mostly in work. Forever going for bigger and more, with a forward-looking gluttony. Stretching myself to act according to playbooks I didn’t write nor truly understand. They called me “high-achiever” and it felt good, like I had something right. I thought that this was the way to go about life and to interact with the world. Measuring my value against an outer scorecard, I took many things personally and felt attacked easily. I thought something was wrong with me as I had bursts of intense and uncontrollable anxiety when things didn’t go as planned. I was unable to relax.
I was in fact increasingly disconnected from myself and others. Judging anyone who would not seek achievement or contribute to mine. Not able to remember what I truly wanted or liked and looking outside for inspiration. Getting lost in distrust and transactional relationships. But it didn’t matter in the meritocratic environment that I had taken to like a fish to water: I could find enough fellow high-achievers to give me a sense of validation, and I could serve others’ agenda enough to earn the taps on the shoulders I so desperately needed to believe any of this made sense.
Then 2020 came, along with it a global pandemic. Like most of the corporate forces, I was home: a computer screen between me and my next fix, while the world was slowing down to a standstill. Desperate to be going cold-turkey, I doubled down on the work and became laser-focused on delivering more and better, taking on new responsibilities in addition to caring for my children at home. The disconnection amplified and very soon, I realized that I was no longer matching the success criteria in that outer scorecard I was abiding by. I was failing again. I did not like to feel that way. This was not OK: I had to change my reality.
Except, well, let’s just say: tough luck in 2020. Until me feeling bad started to feel like the real failure. That was a box I could tick! Fueled with revenge, having nothing to lose and a deeply rooted belief that I deserved to feel good, I mobilized my resources and educated myself with appetite. I learnt that circumstances are always neutral and that no one else but ourselves can make us feel an emotion. I discovered that emotions are created by the thoughts in our mind, and the language we use to talk to ourselves. I understood that emotions are the fuel for all our actions — towards a result that is often a self-fulfilled prophecy of the thought we had. I realized that if I wanted to feel better, I had to slow down, observe my thoughts and rewire my brain.
That is the work, and in that, the most difficult is accepting that my only job is to relax. Welcoming the emotions as they arise: see them and greet them, seek to understand what they are telling me—without reacting. Slowing down and taking a pause, between emotion and action, to decipher what response would be creating the life that I aspired to live: connected, purposeful, loving and strong. Taking ownership of my life, designing my future self intentionally in all her dimensions, a clear inner scorecard and compass, seeing each moment as a springboard to create an experience I want to be part of. Giving what I wish to receive. Accepting where I’m at and loving myself better.
That is not a box to be ticked, but an onion to be pealed. Tears are a beautiful part of the progress —rage tears, frustration tears, grief tears. Just as you start forming the thought “I have arrived”, then you get right back where you started. Except you know the place for the first time. The work happens uncontrollably, at a molecular level, as I am journaling, meditating or visualizing. The journey becomes the destination. The mind no longer defines you, and as you connect to the present moment — your body and your intuition, all is well, right and wrong no longer exist, the end is the beginning and you can be liberated. Failing becomes a choice.
