How to Be Really Great at Failing

One of my father's favorite stories to tell me about my childhood was when I played catcher in the Little League. I was about seven years old, but I still had (and still have) unequal energy.

I sat on the back of the home plate, the hunter’s gear was too big for me, and I punched my fist at my mitt’s catcher, like my favorite actor Mike Piazza. And like Bruce Lee, I would point my index finger at the pot and point it at him to “bring it.”

At one point, a bad ball was blown into the air. I stopped running with all the desire my little seven-year-old heart could have. That ball, what came out, was mine.

The ball hit the safety net on the fence, and I put my body down and grabbed it. Because it hit the net, it was a bad ball. That didn’t stop the parents from the channels and the referee giving me a lot of appreciation for my effort.

Dad still says he was sitting upstairs that day, saying to himself "That's my boy." It will always be one of my favorite things I have ever touched. Because f * you, I still hold it.

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be at the forefront of something. I have tried my hand at so many things in my life and I aim to be world class in all of them - baseball, boxing, filmmaking, piano, fitness, etc.

I've always wanted to be seen as a special person. In this relentless pursuit, I have poured out my heart and soul to everything that I have done. I have lived with a burning fire and unending passion within me.

But, look again, there is nothing yet.

I was just a middle school kid, respected but not very popular.

I tried hard at the baseball team I played for when I was growing up, but it always seemed like I was getting on the bench. It wasn't until college that I actually played regularly.

When I applied in Michigan, I did not back down. I was put in a pile where they wanted to make sure that, uh, the “most desirable” came in first. And when I arrived in Michigan, I was assigned to a group that was given extra help during the administration.

I remember one girl even raising her hand at the local time and asking, "Stop, are we dumb kids?"

If I show you my rejection list at movie festivals or cold unanswered emails, you might think it's an exaggeration.

I failed. I failed. And just when I thought it would no longer be difficult, I failed some more.

I'm about thirty. While my friends were attending weddings, having children, buying houses, and making a living, I wondered if I had socks with no holes in them or if I could spend six dollars buying a hamburger from In-N-Out. The sacrifices I made to pursue a "different" life and to "get the most out of me."

Since I was not the most popular kid or the most famous athlete in high school, I had to be kind, I had to try hard, I had to isolate myself.

I couldn’t make a new baseball team. That's why I picked up the fist. It gave me space and gave me confidence I had never had before because I had to really learn what discipline is.

Because I had no natural talent in baseball, I needed to find new ways to be strong, fast, to get better. I spent many hours in the kick cage, hours throwing a soft ball from long distances with my dad until one of my weakest tools became one of my biggest strengths.

I would get up early and pack bricks in a bag, pull heavy tires from my waist, and run up the hills. In fact, I was the fastest player on all teams, until I reached a running point of 4.39 40, which if you don't know much about sports, I borrowed a quote from Forrest Gump, "I run like a whirlwind."

While not in Michigan for the first time, I stayed home every day when I returned from school with my math teacher, Mrs. Velasquez, to improve my points, and to guess what, I entered. I still tear it up thinking about it.

Not participating in film festivals simply forced me to watch more, learn more, do more, learn my art better because I should have been better accepted among my peers. It pays off because I have had to learn all aspects of the business completely to find new ways to show that I belong to you.

"What is your greatest strength?"

I came across this question recently. Maybe it’s part of a company conversation, maybe it’s a fading fashion, but still, it’s top of the zeitgeist.

The first time I was asked that, I didn't know how to respond because in my mind, I had no respect for anything. I was just a guy who did and failed to do.

I was not a great champion. I was a boy who got up every morning and did his best every day. I wouldn’t pamper anyone with accolades or fame. But I was impressed by their kindness and hardship. I would be so.

It wasn’t until recently, I was looking at what was former Navy SEAL, Jocko Willink talking, where I found the light.

I have been praising SEALs since I was a child, and I have often watched Discovery Channel Documentary, BUD Class 234. To get past the BUDs, which is probably the hardest military training in the world, all you have to do is not give up. You just have to be more discriminating with the help you render toward other people. That's something that always touched me.

Jocko said, and then I put it succinctly, “If I had a choice of the best A-Class stars and a team of incompetence, I would always be looking for the wrong because the wrong was always always looking for you. They wanted to listen. They wanted to learn. ”It was then that my mind shifted and the wave of understanding overwhelmed me.

I spent a lot of time chasing perfection, chasing something that wasn’t mine to try to stand out, which I didn’t realize I was already different. I no longer felt the need to demand respect from the people I wanted to be respected. I had to be the only one - incompetence