Failure Leads to Success...Right?

After school Friday, I went to a PD with all the other teachers and staff in the building (for all you non-education people, PD stands for Professional Development), and we talked about the 8 Keys of Excellence.

The 8 Keys of Excellence are a behavior-based program that identifies 8 Keys for conducting oneself in an upright manner. Basically, they are boiled down, repacked, good old fashioned morals and ethics (but you didn't hear it from me). I like the 8 Keys (Integrity, Speak with Good Purpose, This Is It, Commitment, Ownership, Flexibility, Balance, and Failure Leads to Success). They remind the kids of simple things we need to remember when it comes to living life.

Each month we focus on one key, and try as teachers to weave the key into lessons, remind the kids of why each is important, etc. Personally, I think it's an awesome idea, even if not always implemented as well as it could be, and I try to connect the keys to my lessons as much as possible.

Failure Leads to Success is the key for this month. We got together and did Cup Stacking (google it and be appalled at how fast some people can do this), which was meant to illustrate this idea that each time you screw up at it, you are getting closer to being able to do it quickly.

I drove home contemplating this key, mostly because I think it's the key that I have been living most frequently. For those who know me, this might be surprising (or not) since I've been told often that I'm pretty good at keeping myself together, even when I'm coming undone on the inside. Some would consider this a strength. And sometimes, I think it is. Most of the time, however, I think it's a curse. It's pride and stubbornness most of the time that drive me to tuck it all in, prove I can handle it, make sure that no one knows the depth of the struggle going on in my heart and mind.

And often it's the small failures in life that send me churning. As a second year teacher, I am pretty sure I fail almost on a daily basis on some level at teaching. With one full year under my belt, I am certainly learning and fixing things, so I fail less at some things, but then there are whole new categories of things to make mistakes in. And I do. There are a lot of days I go home wondering if I handled that kid's situation right, if I said to much and sounded like an idiot at lunch, if I am being aware enough to be savvy but not paranoid when it comes to building politics.

And then there are times when I outright know I failed. There's no question about it. I jumped down that kid's throat when I should have listened first, I was impatient when I could have slowed down. Generally, when I fail in these concrete, recognizable manners, I apologize and do what I can to make it right. Other times I don't get this chance, so the only consolation this perfectionist has is tucking away the knowledge to NOT repeat that course of action.

But I find that failure DOES lead to success, when you choose to let it guide you. In other words, if you resist the fact that you screw up, if you do not choose to self-reflect over it, then you will not be lead to success. In fact, you will just continue to make the same pattern of mistakes.

But what the types of failure that you really have no control over? This is what vexes me.

Many of you that know me know that I've been working on getting a book published for about 3 1/2 years now *sigh*

And what an arduous, painful, long, and boring process it is!

No one told me when I decided I wanted to be a writer of novels and try to get them published that it would probably be a journey that tested my mettle, my nerve, and my confidence.

I have received a lot of rejections along this journey. LOTS. This past summer, I had a literary agent get interested in my work at a writer's conference in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. This was thrilling, and I have been hungering for time to work on writing ever since, so I could get my work to her, and maybe, just maybe have something happen.

I am sitting here writing today with a profound sense of failure. I'm not sure if this feeling is justified, so I am attempting to not be all melancholy and sad about it, but it's hard to say. It may be the end of the road with this possibility. Or it might not.

But right now, I am having a hard time believing that failure leads to success.

The book The Help was rejected 60 times  before someone finally took a chance on the manuscript that would become a New York Times Bestseller and an award-winning movie. I tell myself this when I get down. But let me be honest--it doesn't really help. Today. Maybe four months ago that thought bolstered me, but right now, who cares? I don't. I am still floating in a pile of rejection letters and despair.

Okay, despair is maybe a little strong, but you get my point.

I just sent off an email that enquired about my fate as a writer with this particular possibility I talked about a paragraph ago. And as I tried to be brave and open myself to possibility that this agent might really not want my work anymore, I realized that failure will lead to success in this case.

Why?

Because no matter what her return email says, I have a plan for this manuscript that I am going to follow. And then I will try again. Enough rejections letters have given me a great deal of advice regarding this book, and enough interest to know that I do have an audience. And it's going to happen someday.

Failure is my guide, and it's going to take me all the way to Success if I let it.

Baby Fever

Husband and I set our best friends up together this past spring. They are getting married this coming May (YEEHAW!!!!), and we couldn't be happier for them. My bestie, who I will call Kindred (because we are Kindred Spirits), was a little nervous about being introduced to Husband's best friend, who we'll call Sprint (he races Sprint cars). And since we introduced them over the phone, long distance, Kindred was a little freaked out about meeting him in person for the first time.

To reassure her, I promised that there was no way that she wouldn't at least like Sprint as a person. He's just too likable. "And besides," I promised with a wink. "He's just your type. I bet your ovaries do a few backflips when you see him for the first time."

Kindred made a shrieking noise when I said this, somewhere between a laugh and a cry of horror. I love when I can make her make this sound. It makes me laugh. But I digress. She assured me that she would inform IF her ovaries leapt when they met, something she was pretty dang sure wouldn't happen. Her ovaries, apparently, are immune to doing backflips when faced with a gorgeous specimen of a man who attracts you and is attracted to you.

But mine weren't.

The whole point of this story is to say that there was a feeling that was very visceral the day I realized that I was A. attracted like crazy to Husband (even though he was simply boyfriend at the time); plus B. was in love with him and he with me; plus C. we wanted to spend our lives together; equals D. I would be having his babies someday.

You do the math!! If that doesn't equal ovary backflips, I don't know what does!!!!!!

So since we got married, I have discovered that the idea of being pregnant and having a baby invades my thoughts WAY MORE than it ever has before. I've always wanted to have children, but they've never really been on my mind so much. And Husband and I are not trying to get knocked up, nor are failing to actively prevent such a thing from happening. On the contrary, we're committed to our birth control until we decide that we're ready to start trying to have a baby. For us, this means we'd like to have a year of married under our belts before we try adding a whole other little person to the mix. For now, the puppy and cats are plenty.

But last night, we visited some dear friends for dinner. Some dear friends who just had a baby at the end of November.

Oh, BABY. 

I snuggled their little boy in my arms last night for an hour, ogling over his precious, tiny fingers and stroking his soft cheeks while he slept, marveling at how noisy newborns are. I haven't spent that much time around newborns, and I always forget how much noise they make. He grunted and sucked on his binky and clasped his little fingers around one of mine and I felt my whole being light up with this glow that can only be described as baby fever.

It''s true. I'll own it. For those moments I cradled that sweet little boy, I wanted one.

I sat and talked to his mama while she fed him, listening to how things are going, how much they love being parents and how indescribable it is. I could see her maternal glow and the depth of love between she and her husband and the intimacy in their little home. And I felt that baby fever roar within me. Sure, they were tired and dealing with all the changes and discomforts of the fact that they had a new baby under their roof. But they were absolutely glowing.

We left the house in a happy haze, Husband teasing me about wanting one. I denied it, of course. Well, I laid claim to wanting one, but not right now. But it's not true. I fell asleep thinking about how incredible of a feeling it will be when we find out we're pregnant for the first time.

Then, I woke up. We were out later than normal for us, and we both awoke a little groggy and disgruntled about going to work. I stepped in front of the mirror to decide what to do with my long red hair and thought, I'm so tired! I looked over at the bed from my bathroom and saw my husband still sprawled there under the covers.

And suddenly I felt a pain. I remembered the look on that baby's mama last night--not the glow part, but the tired part--and thought, Oh, my.

Here I was, feeling groggy and tired because I wasn't under the covers by 9 the night before, when our friends are on a three hour schedule of diaper duty and feedings.

All the heat of baby fever was suddenly gone, and I thought, Maybe I'm not ready to have a baby.

Then Winchester peeked his head around the edge of the doorjamb, one ear up, one ear flipped backward, looking very happy and ready to play.

And, voila!!! Just like that, my baby fever was cured.

For now.