It Is Better
It is my nature, and perhaps human nature, to more clearly remember the details of failure than success. I suppose that this, intuitively, makes sense: were we to succeed at something it means we didn't have so much to learn whereas failure reminds us that there are things we have yet to master.
Incumbent in that mindset, and perhaps a modern mindset, is the notion of repetition until success (a-la video game, unless you don't play video games, in which case it can be a-la something else). And we have all had episodes in our lives where we have applied and reapplied ourselves to some task, large or small, with a conviction to do it until it has been done right: Victory by rote. Yet, the vast majority of interpersonal human experience does not lend itself to retake. Reflecting on lost friendships, lost loves, lost business opportunities, lost anything, really, casts the standard of victory by rote in an unsteady light.
A long time ago when I was both single and not wanting to be single, a friend set me up on a blind date with someone who could only be described as incompatible with me. At dinner (is there a rule that all blind dates involve dinner and a movie?) we got on the topic of reading as this woman's mother happened to be a writer -- bonus points in my book, no pun intended. Allow me to diverge and bring you scenes from a Chinese restaurant:
Ed: So, what do your parents do?
Odd girl who is best described as incompatible: My mom is a writer.
Ed: That's fantastic! Do you like her work?
Odd girl who is best described as incompatible: I don't read. I hate reading.
Ed: Oh. If you have any trouble with the menu, let me know!
And that was where the date ended for me. I'm not sure where it ended for her. Oh, sure, we finished dinner, went to a movie, drove home and ended the evening with a handshake. There was no desire to call this person again and say "let's do Chinese again and try to get it right".
These misses lend some timber to our lives. Some, as above, give us a humorous story. Some deal honest regret, or pain, or shame. Others, a steely resolve to never miss like that again. Sometimes these misses hit as bittersweet -- a needed reminder that catching the horizon is, as an endeavor, as impossible as it is noble.
I've spent a little time reviewing some of my own misses. I haven't had many big ones lately as I've been pretty luck in love and in work. I've had to drop or otherwise re-arranged some friendships, though. Social as I try to be, that always counts as a miss to me.
What I've found is that time spent in reflection of these misses is far more therapeutic than time spent relishing in one's successes. Especially with some vaguely depressing music. In the hot tub. With a glass of port.
And why the reflection? Because I have had occasion to look at a perfect little being who has not yet had an opportunity to accumulate misses. It makes me remember that I was once so unencumbered. As the saying goes.... You've come a long way, baby.
-Ed
Incumbent in that mindset, and perhaps a modern mindset, is the notion of repetition until success (a-la video game, unless you don't play video games, in which case it can be a-la something else). And we have all had episodes in our lives where we have applied and reapplied ourselves to some task, large or small, with a conviction to do it until it has been done right: Victory by rote. Yet, the vast majority of interpersonal human experience does not lend itself to retake. Reflecting on lost friendships, lost loves, lost business opportunities, lost anything, really, casts the standard of victory by rote in an unsteady light.
A long time ago when I was both single and not wanting to be single, a friend set me up on a blind date with someone who could only be described as incompatible with me. At dinner (is there a rule that all blind dates involve dinner and a movie?) we got on the topic of reading as this woman's mother happened to be a writer -- bonus points in my book, no pun intended. Allow me to diverge and bring you scenes from a Chinese restaurant:
Ed: So, what do your parents do?
Odd girl who is best described as incompatible: My mom is a writer.
Ed: That's fantastic! Do you like her work?
Odd girl who is best described as incompatible: I don't read. I hate reading.
Ed: Oh. If you have any trouble with the menu, let me know!
And that was where the date ended for me. I'm not sure where it ended for her. Oh, sure, we finished dinner, went to a movie, drove home and ended the evening with a handshake. There was no desire to call this person again and say "let's do Chinese again and try to get it right".
These misses lend some timber to our lives. Some, as above, give us a humorous story. Some deal honest regret, or pain, or shame. Others, a steely resolve to never miss like that again. Sometimes these misses hit as bittersweet -- a needed reminder that catching the horizon is, as an endeavor, as impossible as it is noble.
I've spent a little time reviewing some of my own misses. I haven't had many big ones lately as I've been pretty luck in love and in work. I've had to drop or otherwise re-arranged some friendships, though. Social as I try to be, that always counts as a miss to me.
What I've found is that time spent in reflection of these misses is far more therapeutic than time spent relishing in one's successes. Especially with some vaguely depressing music. In the hot tub. With a glass of port.
And why the reflection? Because I have had occasion to look at a perfect little being who has not yet had an opportunity to accumulate misses. It makes me remember that I was once so unencumbered. As the saying goes.... You've come a long way, baby.
-Ed
posted by Ed at 9:44 AM
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