Life remains an ongoing series of failures.
I fail consistently and excessively. When trying new things, I wash out harder than most of my peers. Mishaps are casually repetitious, often involving the same subjects. A Sisyphean torment, no matter how far I push my boulder, the anguish of foundering down the hill repeats.
I fail in martial arts. I’ve been a proud member of my dojo for almost ten years. Distinctly, I recall learning a new kata at the ripe age of ten. Instructed by a towering conglomerate of menace and intimidation, every minute imperfection in my form was punished with push-ups. A sheisty stance— “Drop and give me ten.” An off-center strike— “Drop and give me five.” On and on the lesson continued, never fully performing the kata without push-ups; the boulder just kept tumbling.
I fail in music. Pompously, I entered my first jazz club meeting with six years of experience. The president of the club handed out the sheet music. Scoffingly simple, the rhythms remained elementary throughout the piece. Yet, to my utter terror, none of it clicked; jumped entrances, rushed subdivision, forgotten dynamics and style, a truly shameful display. The prodigal president herself kept coming over, not just for correction but downright re-instruction on a subject I should have mastered. The exact words remain elusive, but the way the optimistic passion drained from her eyes, the way her welcoming smile soured, the way disappointment plastered her expression remains unforgettable. I thought I reached the summit, but my boulder and I plummeted back down the hill. In Greek mythology, the hill was Sisyphus’ punishment, but in reality re-climbing that hill remains the greatest gift I’ve ever received, and the greatest skill I’ve cultivated. Falling down teaches that failure never ends a lesson but marks its continuation. I’ll never summit my hill; that’s not really even the goal, merely the motivation necessary for evolution. Though I never fully finished the kata when learning, I’ve now memorized every detail. Though I desired giving up, I stuck through Jazz Club’s humiliations and subsequently enjoyed every performance. In the end, though Sisyphus stumbles, he never stops pushing.