Failure, and what it means

So I wrote an article for the Smith College newspaper...but, injustice! The end of my article was not printed clearly because of the printer. Here is the original text (but not touched by editors, for better or worse):

Commencement celebrates an admirable success: the completion of a thorough education at Smith College. This weekend, the college surrounds its seniors like myself with stories of success, tips on staying financially secure, and numerable inspirational ceremonies. Seniors clog Facebook, Twitter, and the Blogosphere with their excitement for the future. I, on the other hand, stare at the blinking cursor, trying to come up with a vague enough phrase to trick my friends at home into believing I hit it big time.

In a way, I have. This year I celebrate graduating from a difficult school, writing a History thesis, and completing Latin Honors. Yet I still feel bereft without that awesome internship, daring Fulbright, or graduate school plan that everyone else seems to have. And not from a lack of trying, because I applied to graduate school and I failed to get in. I shot for the moon and I landed right back on Earth.

At first, I swore I would tell no one that I did not get into graduate school. I concocted elaborate lies in my head that claimed I never applied in the first place. Everyone will tell you I am actually a terrible liar. So I chose the opposite route, telling people point-blank that I did not get accepted. By my last rejection, I had matured and accepted my fate as a failed graduate school applicant. I received the news of my friends’ success with genuine support and happiness. I even looked forward to the new life ahead of me. I found ways to celebrate my new life plan.

This attitude slowly crumbled. As I realized no one was having or admitting the same experience as myself, my self-confidence slumped. Where were the other people who failed? Why did not anyone else talk about rejection? Where were the Facebook statuses about lost opportunities? Why wasn’t everyone who failed loud and proud like myself? Is it because there is nothing to be proud about?

I am not one of those people who calls failure “destiny,” “fate,” or “God’s will.” No, I call it how it is. I did not achieve what I meant to achieve. Failure does not necessarily have to be a bad word, but I don’t think it is something to sugarcoat. In this case, I did not get what I wanted and it is not ok with me. Failure is not success by any other name.

The real problem with failure is that no one wants to admit they failed. I do not suggest that you push your sorrows onto everyone. But I do suggests that if someone asks if you got into graduate school or got the job you wanted, you can tell them “No” and that it really bites. You will get support and maybe a few cheesy quotes about destiny. Or you’ll find someone else who failed too and you can commiserate. And then, you can move on.

So, post on your Facebook or Twitter, “I don’t know what I am doing.” Tell your girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s grand parents, “I didn’t get that job I wanted.” I assure you, there are plenty of people who feel the same way. Failure becomes the ultimate bad word, a status that some accept as even impossible. Failure is real, but like success, it is transitory and is difficult to define.

Any of my friends or family who reads this article will be appalled that I identify myself as a failure. They do not see the small mistakes, the lost opportunities, and missed connections. And I appreciate their unconditional support, because it is extremely rare. But I want to remind them to resist the urge to comfort me. I realized that, at least for right now, failure is the best option for me.