The word “fail” has never really been in my vocabulary, even in my darkest of days, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be a reality.
That hit me pretty hard the other night.
No one sets out to fail, but not everyone can succeed at the thing they are trying their best to achieve.
In moments of complete dissolution, in these moments where bottom feels too hard to touch, and your face is being rubbed into the cement of it, how do you rise?
As a creative, I understand that my path is not “ordinary”. I often refer to those of us called to the arts as “extraordinary”; We bring light and darkness, joy and deep sadness to the world; We bring forth the ability for individuals to feel, and to feel united in so many instances of great divide. It feeds us—creating. It feeds us—giving to the public that with which we made. But it can also drain us of everything. And still, we may never succeed. We leave families, partners, and whole lives to get to a place where there is a “hub” of people like us.
And, gosh, it’s beautiful to connect with people like you.
But there is also something so completely lonely, and solitary, in it. We are all, collectively, attempting to achieve that which is perceived as impossible. But as Audrey Hepburn said, “The word says it, it self—I’m possible”, and so we persevere.
The goal is to succeed, and everyone’s version of “success” is personal to them. I would bet Monopoly money, though, that in everyone’s version of success, there is never any intent on failing.
Not that failing doesn’t bring forth amazing works or new paths.
I’m talking about complete failure: Failure so deep in your life that your face is being rubbed into the cement floor of rock bottom.
Failure so deep you see everyone around you succeeding and you can’t understand how, or where, you went wrong.
That moment where you see the people you once held close just so far ahead of you, you wonder if they really were better off without you.
Are you holding everyone else back, or just yourself?