Issue No. 10: In Praise of Failure

You should really be failing more - and by that I mean - you should be inserting yourself into more scenarios that challenge you where certainty on the outcome is not promised. If you've been reading this newsletter for a while, you know that I've been taking some small steps (giant leaps?) to “put myself out there”. Recently I've been applied to and have been accepted as a member of Black Women Photographers, I've submitted my work to Adobe's Life Reflected album, curated by Andre D. Wagner, a photographer I have deep respect and admiration for, I've assisted a photography workshop for Peter Turnley - another one of my favorite photographers, and I've collaborated on a YouTube video with a few well established peers. Just a few days ago, I sent out my first-ever grant application. Trust me when I say… I do not do all of because I believe in myself so much. I do not do it for the thrill or the promise of recognition. With each  shaky press of my shutter button, each uncertain stroke of my keyboard,  each nerve shattering click of the “submit” button I remain sharply aware that I'm raising the stakes and that heartbreak could ensure. Why then, do I continue to climb back into the ring gut punch after gut punch?  It's because I am afraid of failure, and I don't want to be. 

There's this story my mom always tells me whenever I'm nervous to take the next step. When I was little I begged to go to horse camp. (Imagine young me as a blend of Missy from Big Mouth and Tina from Bob's Burgers). When we got to the barn and I had to take a riding test (a simple test of getting a tired, apathetic pony to walk and stop) As we neared the front of the line for my turn the reality began setting in of all the terrible things that could happen to me once I climbed up in that creaky old saddle. I pulled my mom aside and informed her that I no longer wanted to go to horse camp. In turn, my mother kindly informed me that she'd already paid for it and so I was getting on that horse.  Fast forward to my teen years - I was a dedicated rider, working in the barn on weekends in exchange for free riding time, and I was often assigned the most difficult horses that came into the camp because the older staff knew that I was patient and unintimidated by stubborn streaks or a bad temper. I had competed and failed. I had been thrown and fallen in lessons. None of it ever made me stop. Some old salt in the barn told me “if you've never fallen off a horse, you're not riding enough.” My mother tells me this story to remind me that fear has often been a part of my process - I have to see it as a step, not a wall. 

I still forget this all the time. There are still plenty of moments where I hesitate to try something because of the fear of it not going well. I become rigid, I become a person who says “no" to new experiences. It's usually rooted in simple fear of embarrassment - These are some of the moments I dislike my own company the most. They're the times I see myself resembling the kinds of people who's company I dislike the most: picky eaters, socially precious, rigid, prideful and steadfastly attached to the safety of the status quo. The people I admire the most in life are those who live well, eat well, take risks, laugh with their whole body, don't take themselves too seriously, invite passion, delight in new experiences - people who are like a prism that let life pas through them, coloring and illuminating their experiences. These are people who engage with risk and failure regularly, but refuse to be defined by it. To a person like this, experiencing the whole of life is more important and full of potential than minor failures. 

As I type this paragraph I am just returning to this task from watching a live stream of an old friend's wedding. I grew up with this person in Ohio, today I watched their  bilingual wedding ceremony in Russia from my apartment in New York. From each end of the screen this moment represents every risk, failure, potential failure, and leap of faith we've both taken over the past decade: the risk of moving to a new country or city, getting close to someone, learning and living in a new language, first jobs, making it all last through lockdown, uncertainty, still deciding that it's worth all the trouble and making a commitment in front of the people you know and love. Seeing this 12-ish minutes of nervous laughter, tears, and translating for audiences on the ground and online made me think of how I saw weddings as a kid - boring, perfect, just something you do when you turn the ancient age of 25 after you've met the right person who's never made a mistake and pursued you flawlessly. Now I have a more complex view of what they represent to me - an overcoming of profound fear, an agreement to take shelter in another deeply flawed person, a promise to do your best, seeing someone's good and bad side and choosing both. Contemplation of the possibilities of what could happen before or after brings a host of beautiful and terrifying and devastating thoughts to mind - its scary because you know, even the most well intentioned and loving people can't avoid hurting eachother - but in that one moment you choose to love eachother, out loud, in front of everyone. 

Speaking of love, I've done my first photos and interview for my project 

We Us & Ours! As this project comes to life, as images come out with varying results (as I'm getting used to shooting film, and my camera is …..a little broken but still pushing) I do sometimes feel the urge to just stop - feeling that it's not unique and refined enough. Wondering if what I'm doing will matter to anyone. In the words of Toni Morrison, I fear that those who view my project will be “touched, but not moved”. But I know, with all of this ugly possibility that I have to make this start and see it through. I have to risk being bad so I can learn to be good. I have to invite the possibility of failure to push me into something new. I have to swim out to the place where my feet are no longer touching the bottom if I ever want to get somewhere exciting.