Yesterday, my roommate and I had a conversation about failure.
I told him a story about writing my first full-length play. When I finished it, I printed out copies and invited a group of friends to come over and read it.
This night was among the top five most embarrassing nights of my life. The characters were laughably cartoonish. The jokes collapsed on the floor and died one at a time. The story was a mangled mesh of slapstick carnage. My friends were polite, read the words I’d written, and said, “Nice job.”
But the whole time, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. The evening was a colossal failure.
And I’m thankful for it every day.
“People don’t move on from their success,” my roommate said. “I like failure, because it makes you want to move on. It’s a motivator. That’s the greatest thing that failure has taught me—how to move on.”
Amen to that.