Those of us in the entrepreneurial realm have likely heard a common story used to illustrate why failure is a good thing: the toddler learning to walk.
Are you familiar with this one? “A toddler attempts to walk for the first time. She wobbles, she puts one foot forward, she falls down. And then she gets up and tries it all over again. Imagine if she said to herself, “I fell down. What an abject failure I am! I may as well relinquish this attempt to walk right now and resign myself to a life of immobility”?
Personally, if I heard her say that, I’d think, “Nonsense! Of course you’ll learn to walk. That’s not a failure–that’s just normal human genetics. Walking is programmed into our DNA.” And also, “Wow, I hope your parents get you an IQ test asap. They’ve likely got a prodigy on their hands with that vocabulary.”).
Despite my skepticism about the toddler theory, I did come to believe (even if it took some time) that failure can be useful. I now know it’s our reaction to failure that’s the problem.
When it comes to failure, humans, unlike dogs, tend to make it mean something about them.
Can’t figure out how to complete the math equation? “I’m terrible at math.”
Tried to learn hip-hop so you can emulate your favorite singer’s moves? “Man, I’m all left feet. How could I be so clumsy?”
Launched a new online program and nobody bought it? “I am such a loser. My audience hates me! I’ll never make a sale for the entire rest of my life.”
Nelson Mandela famously said, “I never lose. Either I win, or I learn.” Seems to me Ms. Zoey illustrates this sentiment in her approach to any kind of failure.
Recently, I attempted to teach her a new trick, the “Figure Eight Weave,” like this one (the actual training begins around the 55-second mark):
But slithering through someone’s legs isn’t quite a natural move for our Zoey. In fact, her preference is to stand perfectly still under my legs, thereby not only preventing me from moving, but also allowing more access to her haunches, which are then massaged by Mum. (To be fair, I’d prefer a massage to weaving through someone’s legs, too).
I employed the trainer’s technique of leading with treats, but even so, Zoey somehow couldn’t quite “get it” the first few tries.
Did she give up? Did she berate herself for being too uncoordinated? Did she stomp off in a huff, thinking, “This is stupid! I’m a failure as a cattle dog! I’ll never learn how to weave!”
Nope. What she did was double down on her efforts, zig-zagging through my legs repeatedly, even when not asked. In fact, I had to slow her down, practically bopping her nose with the treat before each turn. She never lost enthusiasm; she just kept plugging along until she finally mastered the trick (and received copious amounts of cheese as a reward).
Zoey says, “This is how you do it, Pitt Bull!”
Even more telling is Zoey’s behavior when she decides to learn something on her own. For instance, one of her games, called a Challenge Slider Interactive Dog Puzzle, was designed specifically to encourage her Labraheeler brain to operate at maximum capacity.
The game resembles a slightly thicker checker board, except in this case, all the squares are blue. Each square also has a sliding plastic cover that hides a small depression into which we can place a treat.
One square has no cover at all. So each time the dog slides one of the squares over the blank space, the one beside it reveals the previously hidden treat within. These trap doors glide in one direction only, however. So, once the dog reaches the end of a row, she must figure out which way to slide the next door to begin the process again.
With her propensity to use her front paws as arms and hands, Zoey picked up rather quickly that sliding a door downward would uncover a treat. This worked well, at least for the first row.
The thing is, Zoey’s accustomed to scratching in one direction only: from top to bottom. When she got to the second row, she would have needed to slide the door across instead of down.
But dogs are creatures of habit, aren’t they? And so, for a while she kept pawing at the compartment as she’d done up until then, becoming frustrated and impatient to get at the food she knew lay within it.
This undertaking went on for a few minutes. There was a fair bit of sighing, nose-pushing and even a few grunts.
Did she give up? Did she consider herself a sub-par cattle dog (they *are* supposed to be the smartest breed, after all), one who couldn’t even figure out the simplest puzzle? Did she leave the room to settle in a corner with a pint of Haagen Daz and bawl for 45 minutes?
No. I mean, there were treats under those doors!
“Must. Get. Those. Treeeeeeaaaaats. . . !!”
So our girl persisted, eventually nuzzling the board so often and from so many angles that one of the doors moved a milimeter and the treat was almost in reach. Then she deftly used her tongue to ease the treat out of the compartment and into her mouth.
And I’ve gotta tell you, she looked pretty darned pleased with herself at that moment. In the end, she learned–and won.
The fact is, there’s pretty much nothing that affects Zoey’s self-esteem. She possesses robust self-confidence, and some paltry failure–or even a major failure, like falling flat on her belly after a mis-step over a wayward toy–doesn’t alter that self image in the least.
Let’s endeavor to be more like Zoey this week when it comes to our own failures, whether insignificant (the coffee maker didn’t work because we set it up wrong) or seemingly important (major interest charge because the cable bill wasn’t paid on time).
As Henry Ford said, “Failure is the opportunity to begin again–this time more intelligently.” No wonder he famously tried to create that light bulb 1000 times before he got it right.
I also like this sentiment from Chris Hardwick: “No human ever became interesting by not failing. The more you fail and recover and improve, the better you are as a person. Ever meet someone who’s always had everything work out for them with zero struggle? They usually have the depth of a puddle. Or they don’t exist.”
It’s time to start existing, fully. No more shallow puddles. Embrace our failures, continue to love ourselves, and move on.
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Follow up to last week’s challenge: Use the Things You Love Daily
As it turned out, I had ample opportunity last week to use beloved possessions on the regular. And use them, I did!
While I can’t say I wore my cherished silk cocktail dress to present an Instagram Live, I did choose my sweaters carefully each day before recording my social media posts and wore those I like most. I drank my morning matcha lattes out of the very best mug, the one we usually save for Christmas morning. And I finally cracked open the handmade coffee-scented soap I’d received over a year ago as a thank you gift from a client. (Luckily, it was still intact and emitted an enticing aroma. And man, did that feel luxurious! What the heck was I saving it for?).
The best opportunity to use my favorite things came on the weekend, when the HH and I took an overnight getaway out of town. Even though the restaurant wasn’t ultra-fancy, I donned my favorite earrings and a lovely pendant I’d received as a birthday present from my sister. It felt great to wear it. I determined I’d wear it even more often going forward. Because, why not?
If anything, using these objects more regularly made me realize that they carry with them a sense of celebration, elevating the mood of the moment. Somehow, drinking out of my special mug made me feel special, too, and that was beneficial for my state of mind. The rest of the workday seemed just a little bit better, too, as a result.
Time to invite that sense of celebration in more often. I suspect we could all use it!
Now, over to you. Let me know your thoughts, or answer one of the following questions. I love to hear from you!
What favorite object did you use last week? If you didn’t manage it last week, what will you use this week to come?
What has been the greatest learning experience you’ve had?
Do you agree that people who’ve had charmed lives are less interesting than those who’ve experienced failures? Why would that be?
Where was your last getaway? (I’m actually looking for locations, so. . . ).
As always, thank you for reading. If you enjoy Be the Dog, please consider recommending it to someone else–or becoming a paid subscriber to support me and my writing. I’d be eternally grateful either way!
Do you agree that people who’ve had charmed lives are less interesting than those who’ve experienced failures?
First, I challenge the notion that very many people actually lead a charmed life. I would say that many "appear" to lead a charmed life. Some are very good at hiding their failures in shame. Fortune favors the prepared, it is said, and how can one prepare without failure as a teacher? Yes, I think a person who has faced little adversity in life is probably a boring, vacuous brat. But Stalin faced a lot of adversity too, and as interesting as he was, I wouldn't want to work for him.
I would rather get cheese treats for puzzles!