The Fire of Failure

Fire. Fire destroys and burns all that it touches. Everything is changed by its caress. There is nothing more than ash when it’s finished. It is the destroyer of all things. Yet it can leave you with a great sense of renewal. It clears the junk away so something new can take root or rest there.

Some trees, like giant redwoods (or sequoia trees), need fire to spread their seeds. Their cones are tightly closed by resin. Fire melts the resin so the cones can open to release the seeds. They need fire to multiply.

I’m in a period of raging fire. It’s burning much of the good with the bad. I’m hoping for something better to come from it, but even my hope seems burned away. I’m not sure where my life is headed or what exactly is happening. But there’s smoke. I’m covered in it. Will fire renew me as well? I’d like to burn away and start fresh. Somehow, I ended up on a heap of trash instead of a hill.

The hardest part about failure is that no one wants to acknowledge it. Every single person has or will fail. Yet failure is considered taboo. And that’s too bad. Through disaster we become improved versions of what we had been before.

So let’s talk about this. I’ll start by taking my own advice. I confess. I failed. In fact, I’m still living in this failure every day, five days a week. I accepted the wrong job. I was given misleading information about the job duties for this position. That was my boss’ fault. But it was also mine.

I let myself hear what he wanted me to hear. I didn’t listen to my intuition or read between the lines to get what he was really saying. I didn’t follow through with my original “no.” Subconsciously (and maybe on a quiet conscious level), I knew this was not the right job. But I ignored it. Although I still refuse to take one hundred percent of the blame, I’m not the hapless victim either.

Just typing that hurts. I hate to admit that luck didn’t put me here. I am to blame. Admitting that to myself is hard. But there it is for the world to see.

I failed.

And I did a good job of it.

Everyone always says that each mistake is a lesson and I feel like I’ve learned from this. I need to trust myself. I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. And I need to stand up for my beliefs and opinions, because no one else will.

No one else is as invested in my future as I am. That’s just human nature. We’re all looking out for ourselves since many people don’t have a communal attitude towards us, especially in the workplace.

Still, the stubborn side of me cries out that I’ve learned all that I can from this mistake. Can we just end this now? I’ve had enough already. But there must be something more for me to learn. Or maybe my stubborn nature is hindering me from truly grasping the lesson. There’s got to be a reason I’m still fighting this.

When I head out into the world every day, I imagine fire raging inside me and destroying everything so I can start fresh. I just have to decide what to fill myself up with. That’s actually a scary thought.

Anger still festers and it never seems to go away permanently. Frustration and sadness linger. So I try to focus on the good. When contentment and hope get together, there’s no room for the rest of that junk.

So here I am. Still standing. Burning it all away.

From the smoke and ash, I will rise fresh and new.

But not until this fire is finished raging.

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Pride and Patience

Twelve years. I’m not sure I should admit this out loud. It has been twelve years since I started writing my current book series. And I’m still working on it.

Most professionals would tell me to drop it and start fresh with a new story. If it isn’t right yet, it may never be. I beg to differ (and this is not perfectionism speaking). I could start fresh with a new story, but that’s really what I’ve done through all my drafts. Each time I started, it was a new story. And since I’ve been persistent, it has matured along the way.

Soon, I’ll start a query letter for a book agent and then move on to my next book while I wait. I’m finally ready to see if it can fly. And if not, nothing was lost because I fine-tuned my craft. Those twelve years were my Master of Fine Arts without the tuition fees. My next book will come along faster. I’m sure of that.

We live in a culture that severely lacks this kind of patience. Yes, I know, sometimes you just need to throw in the towel and move on. But sometimes, you need to stick with it. It takes a bit of wisdom and perspective to know which path to take.

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I have been forced am learning to be patient. I’ve waited for change for years now. I’d like to go in a new direction, both in career and location. I want to settle into a new house soon. But I’ve been unable to do those things. And it’s been so frustrating.

I’m beginning to see the not-so-harsh reality. I’ve learned from my stay here. I’m stronger in myself and have more confidence in my skills. I can handle more than I used to. I needed to go through all of these challenges to become who I am now. And that takes time. And sometimes time tries your patience.

Just when I’m on the brink of giving up, someone always throws me a bone. When I met my now-husband, I’d given up on the idea of marriage. I was ready to travel the world and let the wind blow me where it would–just not into a man’s arms. Today, I’m happy I took a chance and let him in.

I was who I needed to be at the time we met. A few years earlier, we wouldn’t have liked each other. Both of us agree on that. Time can mold us into better people if we let it.

I have new hope for my future. I just need to set aside my pride and realize that this is just one job. One place on a map. One stage in my life. Better will come. I just have to be patient.

Photo credit: WasabiDoobie / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND