Failure is the Fun Part

I’m not one of those people that needs to be good at everything. I don’t think achievement is really the point.

In fact, I like being bad at stuff. My proudest academic achievement was the "D" I got in Econ 10, because it was more work than any "A" I had ever received. I can’t sing, operate lighters without hurting myself, cook anything which requires measuring, or parallel park. It takes me over an hour to eat with chopsticks. I’m also the worst bowler in the world. In fact, I once threw myself down a bowling lane. Backwards. If it’s klutzy, foolish, or weird, I’ve probably done it. Once by accident, and the second time on purpose.

This week, however, has been a high point for personal incompetence. In list form (because today I’m bad at narrative) here’s a random sampling of this week’s mistakes:

1. Went to work dressed in a discount bin roadkill/crazy homeless lady outfit. At least it’s better than the time I went to work as a naughty schoolgirl.
2. Trimmed my own bangs. Right before bed. With fingernail clippers.
3. Used a diamond earring to pay for coffee. Not on purpose, but I had put my earrings in the change compartment of my wallet because I’d lost the backing to one, and was afraid of losing it. It must have fallen out while I was digging out change. Sometimes the universe is HILARIOUS.
4. Misdirected three phone calls in a row.
5. Face-planted on a Metro escalator. On the left side, no less, so I was almost trampled by a horde of commuters in tacky white sneakers.

I don’t think failure is so bad. Perhaps it’s the years of practice. But I don’t find it to be the end of the world if I’m not good at something. I think it’s impossible to grow if you simply do the things you know you can handle.