Learning from Failure

Failure. Some might say that it is an opportunity to start over, a chance to redefine yourself. Even so, no one ever told me how heartbreaking it could be. Case in point, my driving test, or rather 'tests.' The first one, I failed, apparently due to hesitation. Which is rather infuriating. We're always taught to think about our decisions, to not jump the shark. Yet there I was, having just been failed and then informed that I should go home and reread the Highway code. My mother, who had been waiting for me at the test centre, was obviously upset on my behalf. So I cried and I cried until my stomach hurt and until I had no more tears left to cry. The act of shedding tears normally leaves me feeling invigorated, as if it were possible to purge the feelings of worthlessness, but not that day. Nevertheless, I rebooked my test and waited four agonising weeks to retake it. During that time, I lived in my own purgatory, hating and cursing myself for committing such an offense.

So when the second test rolled around I was ready. No hesitations. No mistakes. Time for happiness and fulfillment. Or so I thought, as I was leaving the test centre, I did exactly that, I hesitated pulling out. Instant failure. Apparently the rest was fine, but it didn't matter. I hardly spoke a word when we drove home. I felt broken, it was bad enough to have failed once, but twice? Again, I drowned in my own tears. My crying did nothing to soothe the pain in my chest, didn't dampen the fiery malice within. But what does one do? When the pain is internal, directed at oneself? If I have learnt one thing, it is that no one will ever be able to hate you more than you can hate yourself for one error. But neither will anyone ever love you more than you can love yourself when you do accomplish something.

Now you've read this far—we all wish for happy endings but I can only leave you on a cliffhanger. Some might say that I should feel anger towards the examiner or perhaps the way the driving test is marked. I feel neither. All I'm wishing for is forgiveness, not from the examiner, nor from the people who were rooting for me and certainly not from God. I want to forgive myself. Nevertheless, the more I think about it, the more I wonder whether I can even deem this a failure. By definition, failure is the opposite of a victory, the state of being incapable of success. Having said that, one could argue that the description doesn’t fit my current state. Simply on the grounds that I haven’t given up, I’m certainly not incapable, otherwise I would not have applied for the test in the first place. And just to make it clear, if to nobody but myself, I'm not a failure.

My third driving test is the day after tomorrow. No matter what happens, I promise myself that I'll keep going. Because I know, when it really matters, I will not hesitate. I will not let fear, hate or any emotion try to choke me. I've heard other people say that spite is a brilliant motivator. I see what they mean. All I want to do is wave that meaningless certificate in the face of those that have ever doubted me. It might be wrong to have such selfish thoughts. Nonetheless, I'll tell myself whatever I need to hear to get myself through the day. Don't let anyone take away your happiness just because they were faster or somehow got more acknowledgement for it. Perhaps I have been looking at failure the wrong way, because, if anything, I am more determined than ever. It doesn't matter if I need to rebook one more test, or one thousand. I'll get there, I promise.