Eyes Wide Open
to achieve greatly or fail beautifully, what is the difference?
A few weeks ago, I stumbled into a topic that produced some intriguing comments in Walking into the Unknown. It was one of those philosophical, mood pieces that usually find their way into my journal. Based on your comments, however, I'm revisiting the post and topic, basically choosing to tumble a little further down the rabbit-hole of the notion that gifts and blessings can become the curses that oppress when ignored; while approaching the idea from a rather unusual perspective. Previously, my comments came with the assurance that I was not attempting to explain existential themes in a few thousand words or less; a statement that I'll now amend with the disclaimer that I don't pretend to have definitive answers, I only aim to share experiences—because, as I said previously, though life is an individual pursuit it's also a collective one, and our shared experiences are helping hands of encouragement to others.
As you may recall, I wrote that the indomitable nature of the human spirit is never more apparent than when defeat is so palpable that it seems inevitable. To which, came the question, "what if defeat doesn't just seem inevitable, what if it actually is? What if some of us are just destined to fail?"
I'm sure many, if not most, have asked themselves this very question throughout the low-tide moments of life. The fact, however, that a question is readily asked doesn't mean that it's answered with the same perspicacity—not usually, anyways. Which explains, why this very question has presented itself any number of times; usually at some of those darker moments when I was starring at a concrete wall infused with rebar, asking myself, why do I persist? And, what is the point? In these moments was when it occurred to me that these weren't really the questions that I expected to find definitive answers to, they were just segues into a more obvious appreciation of life's colors and nuances.
Ultimately, what the rebar-infused wall teaches is that everything in life is a lesson on perspective. And, part of the lesson is that a state of failure requires a conscious choice to desist from the pursuit of the desired outcome; but, failure is also a derivative of our associated expectations with the aforementioned pursuit. A realization that brought me to the question of whether or not it was possible to pursue something without having the desired outcome dangled before my face like a carrot. In other words, could I pursue my liberty, success as a writer, or any of the other desires in my heart without also needing to achieve them?
As I circled the question, it occurred to me that the expectations were what was causing so much unhappiness. But, it wasn't yet clear how I could possibly pursue any number of goals without some association with expected outcomes. After all, isn't it the desired outcome that moves us to persist, make sacrifices, push and otherwise reinvent our limits so as to achieve greatly or fail beautifully? How could I design goals for my life without also having expectations? It seemed counterintuitive, but, as I continued to circle I began to notice something that I hadn't seen before.
I was standing before a fifty-five gallon, industrial kettle preparing a meal for four hundred and fifty men when an interesting and relevant truth began to reveal itself: sometimes the end result of the meal isn't as good as I would like, but my personal disappointment with the outcome doesn't take away from the pleasure of having given the meal my very best effort. My craft as a chef has been evolving for almost eight years, and over that time I have never found that my inevitable, personal disappointment with a variety of outcomes has deterred from the pleasure of pursuing the perfect dish. Which is to say, that although I don't expect the perfect dish on any given day, I find that I'm never discouraged from its pursuit. In fact, in long-distance running or other endurance activities (e.g., relationships, careers, or personal wellness and health) I have likewise discovered that the pleasure of the pursuit far outweighs the very transitory disappointments of defeat.
Perhaps because there is something unusually spectacular about a long-distance run and race where from the outset everything seems to go wrong: shoes suddenly aren't as comfortable as I thought; the temperature or humidity is higher than expected; I'm winded and can't seem to find my rhythm or pace; blisters on the feet are bleeding through my socks; blood is streaming down my leg from a self-inflicted mishap and fall at mile five or seven; and the list goes on. Any one of these is sufficient cause to stop, and all of them guarantee a less than stellar finish; but, at some point it stops being about winning the race and starts being about finding the will from within to finish.
In fact, there was a time in Phoenix when I was so far behind the leaders in a race that nobody even noticed as several of us stumbled across the finish line. Nobody was there to hand us cups of water or a congratulations, and, as I recall, many of us hobbled ourselves to the nearest curb and immediately proceeded to sit. Then, as I was removing my shoes and bloody socks a friend and fellow runner saw me and approached. She said, "why didn't you just step out?"
What I said in response is no longer part of my recollection, but I remember thinking as I peeled the bloody socks from my feet that her question and obvious reasoning were certainly valid. Eventually, however, I discovered the answer to her question through a series of similar mishaps: I don't run (swim, cycle, or climb) for the prize of winning, nearly as much as I run for the prize and personal satisfaction of finishing whatever it is that I set out to accomplish. An observation that brings us full circle back to confronting the inevitable defeats and seemingly destined failures that we collect throughout life. Are some defeats and failures inevitable? I think so. But I also believe that that which we try to avoid has a way of finding its way to our doorsteps, precisely because we fear it—i.e., that which we fear we attract.
As I've said, we all have walls in life; and although, not all walls are reinforced with rebar: a wall is a wall. And with this in mind, I suggest that the next time you find yourself looking at your wall, try to see yourself from the wall's perspective. How does the wall see you? If the wall could think, see, and talk what would the wall say? And then take the time to listen and reflect.
The first time that I traded my perspective for that of the wall, all I could initially see was the self-pity. An observation that caused a lot of internal frustration, confusion, and self-loathing. Mostly because it was difficult to acknowledge a version of myself who could be sitting on the concrete floor of a prison cell feeling sorry for himself. I just couldn't bring myself to recognize, much less acknowledge, the young man sitting on the concrete floor with his back against the wall as being a viable version of myself. Even though, that was precisely what I needed to see; because once it was there before me, I couldn't not see it; and with only that before me, all that was left was to get even closer—and then, a little closer, still.
Surprisingly, the closer I came to myself the more illiterate I became in my own understanding of me. Yes, I had been defeated before, in any number of areas. But, in all of those instances the difference was that not a single defeat had ever managed to put me on the ground so definitively. And, since for that very brief moment I was no longer me looking at me, for the first time I was also able to appreciate the symmetry and beauty of the defeat itself.
I came to understand that there are different categories of defeats, almost like earthquakes on a Richter scale or hurricanes by category number. Most defeats are those that bring us inconvenience and loss, but there are some losses and defeats that don't just knock the wind out of us they upend our lives to such an extent that to move forward requires nothing less than a reinvention of self. And, in these definitive instances it's no use trying to put the pieces of our shattered lives back together, mostly because even if we could reassemble the pieces, the end result would never again be what it was—which is a hard truth to accept.
For me, it wasn't so much that I wanted to return to who and what I was, it was more about the fear and uncertainty of whether I could withstand the heat of the furnace that I knew I would have to walk through for there to be any chance of emerging from the other side. If you think about it, our lives are like Fabergé eggs, beautiful and unique, but extremely delicate when they hit a concrete floor. And to do anything substantive with the broken shards—other than walking over them with our bare feet, so as to try and remember what was—requires nothing less than melting the shards down to their base elements.
If we do it, however, what emerges from the furnace is not only more beautiful than whatever our Fabergé eggs were before; it's that we're no longer afraid to drop and break them, because the borrowed perspective has shown us that beauty can absolutely be reforged. And perhaps this is the true miracle and beauty of the defeat: that what emerges from the furnace of defeat's aftermath is nothing less than a living, breathing, bona fide blessing.
As I said, I don't pretend to own any definitive answers. But, since the transitory state of defeat is universally human, I'm certainly qualified to offer an opinion. And, as I see it, defeat gives us knowledge of self. Knowledge of self affords us the necessary perspective to see the wall as it truly is—i e., opportunity—so as to thereby make it a part of our strategy, as opposed to our enemy. Therefore, if a blessing becomes a curse, it's only because by ignoring the borrowed perspective, so as to see something as it truly is, we're choosing to intentionally walk through life with our eyes closed, all the while complaining about the wounds and self-induced mishaps accumulated along the way. Instead, if we accept the borrowed perspective of defeat, we come to see that defeat itself is a lie that we've accepted because we've convinced ourselves that opening our eyes is too difficult. Moreover, a lie that we have accepted along with the corollary falsehood that defeat is somehow inevitable, when in reality the only thing inevitable about defeat is it's transitory nature. Which is why I frequently say, to achieve greatly or a fail beautifully is one in the same, the only difference is the perspective we choose to adopt, at any given time, with our eyes wide open.
Top Image: Courtesy of Pexels
Second Image: Courtesy of Gina Tepper.com
Third Image: Courtesy of Franklin Mint
