a love letter to failure

"you build on failure. you use it as a stepping stone." ― johnny cash

Failure stays up with me most nights, curiously watching from the edge of my bed as I rewrite my 5-year plan yet again.

She tags along to the gym, watching me “push past just one more rep.” She goes with me to interviews, on dates, and sits in on tough conversations with my mom.

We’re best friends, you see; without her, this version of me wouldn’t exist.

Failure isn’t a jealous colleague who sabotages me at work or a mean ‘friend’ who gives backhanded compliments. Failure is my high school math teacher who gave me C’s three times in a row until I finally sat down to find the derivative of a function. Failure is my first homemade matcha latte gone wrong, which eventually became the hall of fame of matcha lattes, perfectly balancing umami with sweet undertones.

Failure pushes me down time and time again, but her intent isn’t to hurt me. She’s very calculated.

Every rejection, every blow-out with my mom, every failed friendship, the love of my life becoming a stranger, every business that crashed before it began, every time I started over in a new city alone, every panic attack before a big meeting, every night I questioned every choice I made, every time I lost myself trying to be someone else, every dream I had to let go of before I was ready, every time I realized I was the toxic one, every morning I woke up knowing I had to rebuild myself from scratch, every time I had to swallow my pride and start from zero, every time I watched someone else live the life I thought would be mine—those are all her signature moves.

Somehow, failure makes me get back up, stronger and more capable. It’s like how muscle fibers rebuild after being torn apart when you lift heavy weights.

Failure is my greatest teacher, and I her finest masterpiece.