Failure

Catching up with Nora recently, and she sent out an APB – please, tell me about your worst failure in life!  She’s going through some pretty risky life changes at the mo, and was looking for people to reassure her.  Most failures in life are survivable, except perhaps failure to strap your parachute on properly before jumping out of a high-altitude situation, or similar.  Well, if I can make this usually perky lady a little more cheerful by discussing a few black times in my life, I sure will!

 

So.  My WORST ever failure . . .  How does one know when one has failed?  Is it when you feel bad?  Is it how you react to a situation that feels bad?  Is the complement to failure regret?  I don’t know, I must be an interminably glass-half-full kinda girl, because I can’t think of a lot of regrets.  I suppose the easiest things to regret are Men of the Past (MoPs), and they are the most deliciously fun to read about, so I’ll write about a couple of them.

 

I dated a man who was unemployed, alcoholic, stole my money, and was often rough with me.  I listened to his venomous whispers for years, too quickly, too easily believing that I was the ugly, stupid, and akward girl he saw.  He isolated me from  people, from reason.   I dated him for 3 years, from age 20-23.   So this – this I sometimes regret.  I failed myself here, big style.  But then I think – eh.  Before this jerkface, I was a rug, people walked all over me.  After dating him, and finally figuring out how to kick him to the curb (and that I could do it!), I got a lot tougher.  And after my self esteem dipped so low, it really soared.  I became a bit egotistical, in fact, and now I think I’m smokin’ hot, and also very good in social situations thank you very  much.  Those were some black days, but they catapulted me straight into the pretty good life I have now!

 

A short stop on the love freeway between him and hubby was another man.  He was firmly employed, not alcoholic, spent his own money (often on me) and always gentle and gentlemanly.  He was a photographic negative of his predecessor, and I adored him.  Things were great, we were happy, finally I was getting it right – until he and my close girlfriend suddenly strike up a (must I be delicate?  family reads this, I must) SORDID AFFAIR without telling me.  A DOUBLE betrayal, a shock to my system.  That was a spectacular failure, on all our parts – his failing to be faithful, her failing as a friend, me failing to notice.  But how can I regret this failure?  Despite its wretched ending, during our short courtship he helped make me feel good about me again.   For a brief while I decided I would trust no one, but time tempered that into a more mature understanding of trust, and risk, and the mix of the two in every relationship (romantic or otherwise).  Also, when we split up I lost 25 pounds (probably 10 too many, but not to worry, those 10 and their 10 cousins are all back).  Also when we split up I discovered the importance of close girlfriends – one let me down, then ten stepped in and lifted me up.  They took me dancing.  They made me dinners.  They eventually gave me back my smile.

 

So, these were failures, and though I like to blame it all on the guys, deep down I will sullenly and grudgingly admit that I was part of the failure, too.  It takes two to tango, and to break up!   Now – married for a few months to a firmly employed, non-alcoholic, gentlemanly, mature, independent, smart, motivated, disciplined, funny, and positive man (cute?  did I say cute?) – I’m still failing.  I fail to be kind to him when I’m exhausted, I fail to scoop the cat litter when – well, at all times – I fail to pay attention to him when I’m blogging.  He fails me, too, sometimes.  One thing he never fails to do?  Make me coffee in the morning before I head out.  One thing I never fail to do?  kiss him good-bye as I go.  All my failed MoPs?  They helped make me into the girl my guy loves.  All his failed GoPs?  They helped make him into a guy who makes a great cup of morning coffee.

 

Failure.  I can handle you.  So can Nora.  Do.  Your.  Worst.