Failure is only the opportunity to begin again more
intelligently. ~Henry Ford
One afternoon, I was making quite a racket moving out
extension ladder to work on our gutters.
Between being heavy and awkward (the ladder, that is, not the ladder
mover), this is an ordeal that involves a fair amount of swaying, jangling, and
clunking from the ladder coupled with grunting, huffing, and anesthetized swearing
from me. Mother and father robin quickly
flew to safety in nearby branches. To
the nest-bound robinettes, this must have seemed like a terrifying
display. Unnerved by their front row
seat to my ladder jousting, they took to the air despite their unfamiliarity
with the techniques of flying. One by one
they bounded out of the nest - a first flight, distinctly lacking in grace and
confidence. One flew to a branch in a
nearby tree, another to a step ladder leaning against the house, a third took a
quick descent to the ground and began hopping about. Their wings appeared weak, their navigation
sloppy.
Mother and father chirped frantically from their nearby roost
as they looked on helplessly. There was
no turning back. The chick’s chance of
navigating back into the nest appeared slim.
It would require deft maneuvering far too advanced for these neophytes. They would either learn to fly or die in the
process. I declared a truce with my nemesis, setting the ladder in place and
stepping back to watch these chicks get their wings.
Over the next half hour their technique quickly
improved. They began flying from place
to place over gradually increasing distances.
Improvement was most noticeable in their landings. Initial flights ended abruptly, as if
unplanned. They would hit landing points
forcefully and need a moment to gain their composure. Sometimes there was a little bounce and then
a resettling. They had no clear target,
just the hope of safe arrival. Over time
the landings were more graceful. They would approach deliberately and float to
rest gently. Soon they were flying with
confidence, venturing beyond the back yard into the front. They never returned to the nest.
From stuttering flight to aerial confidence, the chicks
learned to fly through repeated trial. Some
they could learn from watching mom and dad, but much they had to learn through
experience. They were learning from
their mistakes. With each flight they
were adding to their skills.
Failure is not absolute when it acts as a tutor, instructing
us of how we can do better the next time.
It is a stepping stone to success.
We can reach further perched on the rubble of failed attempts. In my last post I suggested that failure
invites perseverance. And now I propose
that perseverance allows for progress, one more facet of successful
failure. Successes of today arise out of
the failures of yesterday. Most of what
I do well now can be directly linked to lessons learned from past failures.
I started teaching Jr. High Sunday School three weeks
ago. Teaching is one thing I do
well. But I haven’t taught Jr. High in a
long time and had forgotten how squirrely they can be. In my first week I didn’t manage the class
well. Too much chatter in the class, not
enough focus to my lesson. Failure
(though, not absolute). In the weeks
that have followed I have changed my approach.
Two simple solutions. First, I
removed the table, a barrier between me and the students. Now I can stand next to any student who is
getting too noisy. Second, I narrowed
the focus of my lesson. Instead of
covering everything in the lesson plan, I pick one thing and drill deep. It is working. The class is more attentive, the lessons are
more memorable, and I more competent as a teacher. More competent through failure.
