I write to you from the magic of Bainbridge Island. It’s early still and the scent of the salt air envelops me – so very different from the dry pine scents of my home. I hear coos of what sound like the very same mourning doves that soothe me back home and even here, they drown out the snores of my husband laying next to me.
I have just completed a writing and yoga retreat. One whereby I was both joyfully surprised and utterly stunned.
What I thought was going to be a relaxing time away in a precious corner of the world, within the walls of a precious studio with an old and precious friend was absolutely all of that . . . and so much more.
It was an unanticipated deep dive into myself; a dive that left me feeling raw, exposed, vulnerable, and equally held, seen and deeply connected.
The reductive gist is that we, as participants, were offered prompts from various poems. We then used that prompt as a jumping off point to write for 15 minutes, pens never leaving the paper and oh, where my mind would take me.
From there, we were each asked to read our writings aloud (gulp!).
When not reading, the instruction was to simply listen and hold space for the person who was. There was no consoling, or solutions offered, in fact no further conversation. We simply were present, offered a loving acknowledgement, held them in our hearts and opened the floor once again. It was staggeringly beautiful and powerful beyond measure.
Of the many prompts suggested over the weekend, there is the one that I keep coming back to.
“If all else fails . . .”
“If all else fails”. I almost chuckled with this prompt because in truth, I have “failed” so many times in my life that I feel like that could be the title to my life story.
There have been so many twists and turns; so many unfulfilled expectations; so much seemingly unnecessary pain; so many roads less taken.
Yet, here I stand.
As I wrote, it became clearer and clearer to me that it is because all else has failed that I am who I am.
In fact, the more apt question would be, “if it hadn’t all failed at so many junctures so many times, where would I stand? Who then would I be?”
I suspect in an entirely different place and an entirely different person.
And yet here I stand, in a richer life than any of my limited visions could ever have imagined. My failures have guided me probably more than any successes and here I stand, not wishing to change a thing.
Then why was I always so scared of failure? Is there really such a thing or is it simply a cultural construct, subjective in nature? Who defines what failure is and if it leads to new learnings and growth (and it always does) then is it really failure?
We live in a culture obsessed with success. We fear failure as a collective and individually and I get that. I appreciate that if our perceived thread of belonging is tied to our successes, failure is not just uncomfortable, it can be downright painful.
Perhaps more painful though are the dreams that go so often unrealized because our fear of falling keeps us from taking the leap at all. Perhaps the only failure is in not trying.
I heard a take on it recently – There are only ever 2 results to any decision.
1) The intended outcome
OR
2) A lesson learned.
Either way, we never come up short and something is always gained so can we even by definition, call that a failure?
The question is not IF all else fails, but rather WHEN all else fails.
So, let’s agree to redefine our sense of failure so that we can know the freedom of trying, regardless of the outcome. And do so with the knowing that we are not alone as we swing . . . and sometimes we miss and sometimes we hit it out of the park.
And for me when all else fails, here I still stand with the rising and setting sun, my favorite cozy chair, the cool waters of Suttle Lake, beach reads, my dogs, orange spice tea, walks on the trail, people who hold, see and love me, sourdough bread and the coos of the mourning doves.
Here’s to still standing and to never stop trying ♥️