I’ve always known that I stopped writing and never really
pursued it because I was afraid of failure. I used to really love to write but
at some point I stopped. The stakes got too high. I couldn’t just do this for
fun. Even when it was simply penning thoughts in my journals, I was hampered by
the fear of screwing up. I didn’t want to write something stupid. After a
lengthy hiatus, I’m finally here because there are just so many things I’d like
to share with you. I think I should revel in the joy of your company rather
than dread the hypothetical.
The reason I can even get any of this down is that the fear
of failure is no more. It was not conquered in an epic sword-shattering battle
or torn down by golden will and strength. The truth is that failure is no
longer a shadow that follows me down the street. Failure is not a whispered
threat or a visitor we talk about in hushed tones. Failure is not a stranger.
Failure is my new roommate, my new best friend.
Let me explain.
For so much of my life, I have been on top of my game, doing
the right thing, always appearing to be headed down the right track. I did my
homework. I worked hard so that I got into the right schools. I did extracurriculars and made good friends. I was on track to succeed. Then I went to another country
(well countries). I was enveloped in new cultures and I connected with different
types of people. I finally saw how many options there are. But then I came back
home and was lost. I got distracted by the possibilities and soon found myself
at the edge of a cliff.
When you are free falling, even though you are plummeting,
descending, there is a strange exhilaration in feeling weightless. (Florence knows what I’m talking about.) I got
lost at school, went through the motions but something was different. I lost
sight of the goal and along the way I didn’t get a shiny summer internship. For
a university student like me that misstep is the equivalent of failure. And for
someone in my socioeconomic status, that is also failure of a much more dangerous
nature. Soon I’ll hit the bottom and
then resume the climb, the struggle up. But for now that fear of failure is no
longer an obstacle. I have nothing stopping me from sharing.
My African-American history professor taught me that when
you look closely at any struggle, any movement you see that it was not a linear
march towards victory. They were set back multiple times. (Don’t worry my
summer of unemployment is not the same as a mass movement for equality. I’m
just thinking about the general pattern.) These are my steps backward. I’m
retracing my steps, figuring out just what it really means, or what it means to
me now. This blog will start off as the documentation of the summer that wasn’t. Usually
people blog about their wonderful ah-mazing travels abroad or about their
brilliant accomplishments saving the world. This blog will be the opposite of that.
More details to come . . .
