Over the last few weeks, I have written about how not being

chosen propelled me towards wrappers.

I have reflected on parts of my history and revealed

failing a semester of physics.

Last week, while perusing a sale table in Barnes and Noble,

I stumbled upon this gem:

I smiled, laughed out loud enough to  prompt a mother and child to rush past me.

I flipped through the innocent looking pastel pages of equations and diagrams which had

stymied me in my past.

A  thick workbook represented failure to me.

It reminded me of my pride in being unwilling to admit my need for help.

Perhaps if I purchased this book and worked hard enough,

I could learn that which

had seemed out of reach,

I would be healed.

The failure would be erased and I would be rendered free.

I could literally close the book on the physics

chapter in my life.

Releasing my grip, I set the book down,

took out my phone and captured

the image.

Revisiting my physics story has helped me to

view failing differently.

You see as much as we imagine no one has ever

crashed and burned like we have,

failure is universal.

Most of us rarely reveal ourselves to others by

boasting of our latest epic fails.

Yet when we give voice to our less than stellar

moments, we diminish our failing’s power to rule.

Physics has opened up conversations with

others who suddenly feel empowered to recount their own

disasters.

If you were to witness the sharing of failure from afar,

those sacred viewed moments would be a collection of

heads nodding and hands thrust over hearts.

You might not be able to make out the words or

even guess at each person’s scenario,

but for a faint steady current

coursing between two masters in falling short.

I am not sure if that would be considered a closed

or open-circuit,

I just know inviting others into our

failures always fills a dark

corner with light.