on failure

Here's the deal about screwing up: it's the horrible, gut-wrenching feeling that something has happened, something bad, and it's your fault, and there's nothing you can do about it.

I am a perfectionist, of a most frustrating variety. I'm the kind of person who is not able to begin a task if I believe that it cannot be carried out perfectly. In some ways, this is good - what I do matters, and therefore, whatever I accomplish is actually quite good.

But I'm still prevented from actually doing more. I have not yet learned the lesson of youth; that it is only through mistakes that I can truly live and learn and do. I am so young that it hardly matters at this point. It's better to stumble now than later.

Yet the gut-wrenching fear of failure is still there. It is always there, like a phantom that haunts me as I think of new projects to complete. It is one of the reasons why I haven't been writing more often lately, why I haven't been able to get back into piano, and why I want to learn how to cook more Korean food but am deathly afraid of what's going to happen when I get near the kitchen.

When I really get down to thinking about my own process of thinking, I am the kind of person who continuously mulls over an issue. I look at it from all kinds of angles, trying to see if there's any flaw to the execution of my plans, and I reach in with a mental wand and attempt to fix it. Some would say this is a good thing, a signifier of my perfectionist nature making things perfect.

But then there are people like my dad, who just do. My dad is the spontaneous type, who rushes into projects with the kind of passion that I admire. He is determined to see it through, whereas I often get discouraged when things start going haywire. However, while my dad is spontaneous, he is also adaptable - and there, we see balance. Through flexibility, he approaches head-on as they come; there is not mulling or predicting the future to make sure the road is perfect.

This is one of the things I have to learn. Luckily, I have learned it more in the recent years, as I stepped further out of my comfort zone into activities where perfection was not ensured. I am a member of my Mock Trial team, where I debate and fight against another team based on a fake trial given to us. We have to formulate strategies, theories, and arguments while also dealing with the issue of objections and times. There is no predictability here - if the team we face catches sight of our flaws, we lose. If they don't, we win.

I love my team, but I can't say we're winners. More often than not, we end up dropping out of rounds because we face teams who are simply more prepared than we are. Most recently, we ended up becoming one of ten schools to remain in the competition - out of ninety total schools. I was ecstatic and determined to reach at least the semi-finals.

But then the other team had memorized the entirety of their script. We weren't yet off book. We lost.

Here's the curious deal about Mock Trial: I have probably lost most often through that activity, but I have also lost with a sense of enlightened joy. Winning, losing, failure, perfection - it didn't matter. I had simple just done.

That is the kind of joy I'd like to carry on through the rest of this year, the next, and into college. To do more, to see more, without the fear of falling of flat on my face. Because even if I do, then I'm sure there will be someone who will help me up. A possible stranger. And that could be the start of a beautiful friendship, wouldn't you agree?