No matter how loosely one speaks of life’s affairs, the report of an occasional failed attempt is overall impossible to deny. Some – notably often those who signal life’s success stories – almost make a profession of it, accumulating a contrary history of defeat, bankruptcy and misadventure to adorn and complicate their badges of ultimate triumph. It does however border on classical Greek mythology to suggest that failure is a prerequisite to success – though the parallel is highly persuasive.

A more rational observation may be that failure is not always a reflection of inadequacy or miscalculation.  It may be nothing more than an unfortunate chance encounter; or, on a more generous scope, it may be mere seconds of difference in a competition. What however appears to persist as commonplace in the life of any one of us is the likelihood of a failed attempt from time to time. The frequency or regularity of the failed attempt may paradoxically be said to reflect the connection of the candidate to life’s activity.

I find it difficult to imagine someone lingering over a failed attempt.  It offends my sense of logic. What I have garnered about failure is that it is always a thing of the past; that is, I do my best to follow the words of Fred Astaire, “pick yourself up, brush yourself off, start all over again”. Besides failure, not unlike the more vulgar attributes of wealth or beauty, is often no more than a disposition or perception.  Recall if you will the tale of the poor little rich girl (The Barbara Hutton Story) or the maiden in the tower (Rapunzel); namely, having it all is no guarantee of fulfillment.

An equally inescapable characteristic of the failed attempt is the improvement and advantage it is said to engender. Presuming as I do that none of us is perfect, failure is not only possible, it is both predictable and reliable. Coincidentally I am guided in life’s passage by the quip, “There are two ways to get down the river – either you know where to go or where not to go.” My experience is that I am frequently obliged to make different attempts at particular ventures before securing the one that best works. This too points to another trait of so-called failure; namely, that the choice of models of behaviour amounts to a comparative decision, none of which is necessarily perfect. Isolating a comprehension of failure as a distinction between perfection and whatever the alternative is called, is perhaps misleading and disingenuous.

It is at this premise that the blending feature of compromise arises. Bearing in mind the current significance of political dissent – and the unrelenting hatred existing between the contrasting parties – compromise and cooperation seem to be the only foreseeable resolve. This of course instantly quells the concept of failure; and, instead, speaks to the more positive element of working together to the same end without the distinguishing attribute of winning or losing. From here it is but a small leap to the adage, “Better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all!”

This expression comes from an elegy titled, In Memoriam A. H. H. by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892). It was published at the height of the Victorian era in 1850, the same year Tennyson became England’s Poet Laureate.

Though failure is frequently advanced as a palliative through circuitous logic and psychology, I prefer to value its worthiness by the strength of its uncertain enterprise alone, without attempting to augment or refashion its patent results. In the end the summary of our trifling exploits on the face of the earth own their true value not to some obscure record of accomplishment; rather, to our own assessment (and enjoyment) of what we do or what we have done. This heady topic then precipitously translates the narrative from failed attempt to life. Any other construction is both redundant and misleading; not to mention misinformed.

And remember too, we’re never far removed from the penalty, “No one’s listening; nobody cares!” Or, less prosaically, “The Universe is ultimately personal!”

In Memoriam A. H. H.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
1809 – 1892