The failing success

By: Oskar Niburski

The first time I experienced success, it was most likely a relief. Being unable to walk makes you think you are stuck in one place, slowly ticking away from the dynamic lilt of life's rhythm. Cemented to the floor, or more accurately, concreted in my own poop, I babbled like a baby. Maybe because I was one. Maybe because I was angry about being unable to stand. More likely, though, because I was left to sit with my own failure.

Looking back, it might have not been my fault. Some might say that. I wouldn't though. Because while I may have fell and fell and fell again, I eventually learned to waddle back and forth, then to stand, and before I knew it, success was at my feet. I am told the first time I walked, I laughed a precocious, little giggle. I think this is because I learned at a very young age that failures may not be your own doing, but success – the ability to try regardless of the outcome – can only be achieved by you and you alone.

This only lasted so long, however. I did not exactly hit the floor running. Instead, I hit the floor after inching my way, slowly, carefully and hesitantly. I still have a scar on my chin from falling my first time. I thank Newton's third law for that one.

These limited successes continued as I grew against the gravity of these physical laws. I kept experiencing failure in new ways, ways I didn’t know possible. Whenever I tried some task, it seemed more likely that I would fail. For example, I failed my G1 driving test twice, was rejected by every girl I asked to the grade eight graduation dance and have never been able to remember my grandmother's phone number.

These failures are probably inconsequential in the holistic view of my life, but at their present respective moments, I could not feel any worse. Or at least, my grandma made me feel as much when I asked who was calling.

Now, when I am apparently wiser only because I am older, when I have reached failure in a way I could never imagine, I am trying to understand how I had the gallantry to get up and start walking, especially when failure is only one small step away.

I guess, even now, I find myself asking why the chicken crossed the world, only to remember that the joke ends with some form of macabre failure.

Someone could tell me that the joke goes on, so it's a happy ending of sorts. I think that's what makes things worse: the vexation due to failure is thus only inflamed by execrable platitudes and banal statements. To those who say, “You will get stronger,” know I don’t feel any stronger. For those who argue that, “You can keep going,” understand that I want to run away. And when people tell me that, “Everything will get better,” be aware that at this present moment, it couldn’t be any worse.

It is only natural, though. When we face failure as a third-perspective body, we can only offer these trite statements. We see the sun, and are reminded that it sets and rises each day, regardless of what happened the last. But these words are empty and to the sufferer, it is as if we are offering them ice on a winter’s day. We do not know their troubles. We cannot offer a blanket statement that will make everything alright. So, because we are so unaccustomed to dealing with other people’s problems, we find ourselves at a loss for words and consequently relegate all our own wisdom to silly clichés and statements.

Do not get me wrong, there are people who will try to take your failure as their own. It is as if they did the action and they alone must deal with its ramifications. To them – we the failures – are eternally grateful.

But for the most part, when you find yourself in the worst of times, most people proffer words of little encouragement. At times, you may even be indignant of this. They don’t understand what you are going through. I don’t understand what you are going through. But what I do understand is that we failed, and we will keep doing so.

Yet, we will also succeed. Regardless of the struggles, no matter how much failure is sitting around you and despite the fact that you feel that it will only get worse, that road will eventually end. And baby, when it does, it will be one big relief.

Who knows? We might even giggle.