Image by Pretty Jeff

What happens when we fail?

When the promotion we want at work falls through, the best grade in the class does’t happen, the house of your dreams get snatched up off of the market, the paycheck we think we are worth doesn’t get cut, the business we hoped to grow starves, the acceptance to the school we desire doesn’t come, the medal we thought we would win slips out of our hands, the job we think we are accepting isn’t offered?

 As it turns out, sometimes we can learn a lot.

Failure. That word doesn’t have a very nice ring to it. Rightly so, I suppose, as the connotations of failure inherently bring displeasure, disappointment, dissatisfaction, even heartache.

No, we don’t often sit around and talk about failure around the dinner table. Failure isn’t generally a casual conversation piece. More often than not we’d rather discuss failure’s antithesis– success.

This is also understandable, as miring oneself in the low that often comes after experiencing the bad news, defeat, or let-down of failure isn’t a very pleasant venture either.

Maybe it’s best for me to be as candid as possible as I write this. In fact, I’ll just come out and say it. I failed. I applied for a job this past month. I felt as though I was a qualified, dynamic, enthusiastic, well-prepared candidate. That I brought not only a strong resume to the table, but also a set of personal qualities that aligned brilliantly with this position.

The precursor to this story is that I had already been passed up for this job a year ago. I felt as though applying again, showing up with eager readiness to interview again, emphasizing my desire to succeed in this position, and then being called back for a second interview meant that I had not only shown I was qualified for this position, I felt that it showed I was sticking my neck out there bravely saying, “Yes! I not only want this job, I am committed to it. Here I am again!!” I thought I would get the job.

So when I heard the voice on the other end of the phone saying, “Well… I have some bad news…” It felt exponentially worse this time around than it did last time! And I even laugh as I write that last sentence because it felt pretty bad to be passed over the first time. Let alone twice.

Now there are reasons for the pass. I also understand that. I am over under-qualified. Have any of you ever been there? But the main takeaway from this interview process is that I am under-qualified. So no one think that I am berating myself too harshly for this, or view this failure as a sign of who I am as a person. Although it really is difficult not to view failure as a personal show-and-tell. Yes, it is simply hard not to take failure personally.

Truth. I failed. Again. Yes, not once, but twice. Nothing about that felt good.

But in the midst of this failure (because I can assure that I am still standing in the middle of it right now), I learned some very important, very valuable, even vital lessons. But let’s not forget the proverbial rubble I am looking around at. Those toppled castles in my head– the way things would have looked if I had gotten the job.

The way we would have negotiated carpool for the boys. The way meal planning and prepping, and execution would have changed. The energy level I’d need to adapt to for full-time work and full-time parenting. The way planning, and prepping, and presenting as part of my new job would have looked every day. I asked myself how certain home duties would be handled, and would we be able to get away for vacation, and how could I best stay connected as a mother and wife while being a full-time worker, and on and on and on…

All of that de-materialized in an instant.

What was I left with?

It was here in the newly open space of my failure that it began to serve me. This is where my failure helped me grow.

1. Your people are your people no matter your success or failure.

I wanted to write about this even during my not-knowing-if-I-got the job phase. Because the support, excitement, well-wishes, championing, enthusiasm, and genuine care for myself and my family were so palpable, so felt, so overwhelming, and so sustaining.

In fact, the day before my second interview I sat in my car outside my four-year-old sons’ preschool and had myself a really good cry. I cried because I felt so vulnerable as a stay-at-home-mom trying to re-enter the work force. I cried because I hated not knowing what the answer would be in a few days time about this job. But mostly, I cried because I was so touched by the love and support of my family and friends.

I cried at the text messages that filled my message inbox sending prayer, good luck, good karma, knock-em-dead, rock-n-roll, and faith in my abilities as a person. I cried because this outpouring had literally, physically uplifted me. I felt as though I could conquer the world, and I hadn’t even made it through the presentation portion of my interview.

I was touched that my mom had driven an hour each way to my house to help me prepare my presentation, that my friends would come over at 9 p.m. on a Wednesday night (that’s late for folks with kids, way past bed-time 😉 ) to listen to my presentation and give me feedback and constructive criticism, that my husband had full faith in me, and believed in me no matter the outcome of the next days’ interview.

The gratitude washed over me so STRONGLY, so FULLY, that I was clean from fear. I was ready to face anything, and I swore that I would write about this experience as soon as I got the chance. I was totally overcome by the expressions of pure love from my people, my tribe. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

2. Failure can solidify your strengths.

When I left that second interview, I know that I had given my all, my best effort. I was pleased with what I had offered the panel. Of course, at that time, I didn’t know that I wasn’t going to succeed, that the job wasn’t going to be mine.

But one thing that giving that presentation allowed me was to see that I was ready for the job, even if I wasn’t selected. I was confident in my performance, and I don’t mean confident in an over-inflated or heady way. I knew that I had shown my skill, my abilities, my strength to present real-time.

Without going into greater detail, I found that I had proved to myself that I was prepared to take the job, to do my best, and to fly. I was prepared to succeed. Not only had I shown those strengths to the interview panel, I had shown them to myself.

Herein is the unique lesson that failure afforded me. Rather than showing me that I didn’t have what it takes/took, I found that I possessed exactly what I had come to highlight. I was encouraged and enlightened, and for that, this failure possesses a certain measure of success.

3. Failure can help you to understand your weaknesses.

Not surprisingly, failure also allowed me to see some of my weaknesses. I realized through failing that I have a hard time taking risks. I have known this about myself for some time. I simply didn’t realize how risk averse I was until I was turned down a second time for a job that I felt was perfectly suited to me. I realized then that perhaps I hadn’t put myself out there into the world enough.

I realized that sometimes it is hard for me to think outside of the box, meaning, I had ONE possible outcome for this job– that I would be the person given the job. I’m not saying that it was bad that I didn’t think about being passed up for this employment opportunity as an option. I’ve probably always erred on the side of hopeful optimism, but I definitely put all further thoughts of “what if this doesn’t happen” completely aside. Consequently, I think failing may have felt even harder than I’d anticipated!

On top of that, I hadn’t put together a coherent plan B for myself, and I count that as a weakness. So great, that I see myself as a complete success, almost immune to failure. But that didn’t serve me well at the other end of this process. In the future, I think it best to have a direct alternative, something you can go after in the face of let-down.

4. Through failure– opportunity opens again.

This lesson is one of the most important lessons of all. When we fail, the incredible thing is that we then have the unique chance to view failure as a net negative, or we have the opportunity to see that failure may have closed one door, but many, many other doors have become open to us or remained open to us.

In fact, opportunity is WIDE OPEN in the face of failure. We simply have to step up to the realization that the forward motion may not be in the direction that we originally anticipated. We will have to reexamine our goals, our desires, our hopes, our dreams. That can be a daunting, even heavy challenge. But recognize that you can do hard things.

Going after this job was hard. Interviewing for the job was hard. Mentally writing the story of my success was hard. The reality that I had been passed up again was hard. Looking for future opportunities has been hard, but I am seeing now that I have been given another chance. A chance to ask some questions about what I want. A chance to look for answers to my employment status. In failure, I have experienced opportunity. What more could I ask for?

A job, I guess.

The last thing that I have taken away from my failure is an acute awareness of my blessings, my haves, my privileged situation. I am the luckiest. I have had insulation from this fall merely by the luck of my situation. I am beyond blessed, and for that I am also extremely grateful.

XX, Megan

As much as I drive the content here on Refined + Rugged, in the activity department there are two other power players who have some say-so in what I post here on the site.

Case in point– The 20 Minute Murse. My oldest asked me months ago, “Mom, I really want to learn how to sew. Can we sew something together?” I won’t go into all the ins and outs of my sewing history (or why I don’t really love to sew), but his desire didn’t end there.

He started to talk about sewing a lot. Like every other day. Now I realize that this was also a mild form of manipulation. My kiddos are smart. They know that each of them has a soft spot in their parents’ hearts. So it probably didn’t come as a surprise to my little P when I told him I would borrow a sewing machine and we would do a project together.

I scanned the inter-webs for kid friendly sewing projects and settled on this one from Purl Soho, which ROCKS by the way!! The instructions are easy to understand, the sewing is relatively simple, and I have to admit that the time element (20 minutes) really had me going!

Flash forward to the fabric center of a certain Big Box Store on a Saturday. The boys took less than 2 minutes to choose their fabric and the ribbon for the handles. I was jonesed because the project seemed to be coming together smoothly already. A sewing machine from my dear friend was waiting for us at home– bobbin wound, needle raised, foot up– we were ready.

I asked one of the sales associates if  there was someone who would come over to cut our fabric. We waited for 20 minutes and no one came. I searched out another sales associate in an adjoining isle and asked if they could cut some fabric. They also said they would put out a page on their headset.

10 minutes later, no fabric person. No person period. I did hear an all call over the intercom for a clean-up on the toy isle. Toys were right next to fabric, so I craned my neck in that direction, hoping to catch someone’s eye who would help us. Walking toward a gathering group of salespersons, I saw the puddle of bubble soap on the floor. No less than seven– that’s 7 people showed up to clean up the bubbles.

Still no one came over to help us with fabric. I asked another sales associate if they could help me with some fabric, and she said, “Oh, I heard the page. No one came?” “NO.” I replied flatly. “I’ll make another call,” she replied.

Another 5 minutes passed. No human arrived to cut our fabric. I pulled the scissors down from the shelf. Cut off half a yard of fabric, and walked, with the original bolts of fabric to the checkout stand. There it took the sales associate ANOTHER 15 minutes to find someone  to go to the back of the store and properly price the fabric. The line extended and people looked sufficiently annoyed behind me.

The moral of this story is: if it takes you more than 50 minutes to GET THE FABRIC you’d like to use for this project, it will take you MUCH longer than 20 minutes to accomplish this tote. I wish you the best of luck at whichever fabric counter you encounter! 🙂

Instructions to this fabulous tote bag are detailed below. Happy Friday! And happy sewing to you all!!!!

XX, Megan

For one tote bag you will need:

1/2 Yard of fabric

2 yards of cotton webbing or ribbon

Cotton thread to match your tote fabric

Measure your fabric to 16 inches tall and 14 inches wide. You can make your fabric into two panels or you can fold your fabric in half (as I did) to eliminate a seam.

Pin the handle pieces to the top RAW EDGE of the right side of each panel 3-inches from the sides. (Make sure you pin the handles to the RIGHT SIDE of the fabric, because you are then going to turn the handles down and eventually sew the fabric to fabric making the top of your bag much stronger.)

The raw edges of the handles should match up with the raw edge of the top of the panel so the handles will be facing down as shown in the picture above. Make sure the handles aren’t twisted.

Do a zig-zag stich across the top of the entire bag, sewing each handle to the fabric. Then turn the fabric down 1 and a 1/2 inches and sew two seams– one along the top and the bottom of that one-and-a-half inch band. 1/4 inch from the top and 1/4 inch from the bottom along each top.

Remember you should have two tops at this point, and if you are a sewing dunce like me, remember not to sew them together!!! Plus, if any of this is confusing, which is a very realistic proposition, Purl Soho has MUCH BETTER directions for this entire process!!)

Now you are ready to sew the sides of your bag! Make sure right side faces right side on the INSIDE of your bag. Then pin the edges of your bag in 1/2 inch increments. Then go to town! This part was fun, and Little P really was able to sew the entire outside seam of his bag.

Ta-DA! The finished project. I really ended up doing most of the work for my 4-year-old. We had an incident with the sewing pedal that caused me to re-evaluate his readiness to use a sewing machine. But, of course, you will know your child better than I. I read several blog posts where moms had their children using a sewing machine as young as three– yes 3!! If you do this project with your wee ones, I’d love to hear about and see your results!

Dear Melanie,

This last week I have been fixated on one adjective of motherhood– relentless. Motherhood is relentless. No rest for the weary. No moss under the feet. Just constant maintenance, perpetual change, and a twenty-four-hour, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year commitment.

I returned home from our third annual girls getaway and I haven’t been able to stop or take a breath since! I know you’ve had the same experience. Plus, Cubby, so your week included a new puppy and has undoubtedly added another exponent of relentless.

Sometimes I feel ready to take it on, to really Win-the-Day every day. Sometimes I feel as though I’ve dropped seven of the ten balls I’m supposed to be juggling. But I am amazed, impressed, and taught by the way you’ve taken on motherhood and the accompanying responsibility with joy, ease, research, and a beauty all your own.

In short, you’re killing it.

I wanted to write you before we met up in Arizona so that maybe you’d be reading this note on your flight home. If wishes were Alaskan King Salmon Fishes in the Nenana River… Lol.

Mel, you were the first mom I ever “dated”. I’m pretty sure those were your words when we met at that little bark chip park in Alexandria, Virginia. A park I hadn’t visited before or returned to since, and we’ve definitely experienced our fair share of playground life and its particulars.

I remember the first time I visited your sunny little condo in Park Fairfax. Those two chubby toddlers cruising around the couch, activity stand, and various toys. Just starting to talk more coherently, beginning to understand what playing, sharing, and verbalizing were all about– friendship, love, support, mutual admiration 🙂

Yes, it helped that our first babies, both boys, had been born three days apart in the Virgo-Libra cusp, and that they really did become fast friends. Friends to this day. But it was more. There was this genuine easiness about our time together. And when I say easiness, I don’t want this simplicity mistaken for smallness or frivolity because it continues to be one of the hallmarks of our friendship.

We simply enjoy spending time together, both in trips like these and co-parenting with our kids. You do it all so well, Melanie, and I’ve been privileged to witness this for almost seven years now.

Your desire to be a good mother was one of the first things that drew me to you. You weren’t shy about saying that this was what you were doing now. You were trying to be the best mom you could be to and for your growing family, and you were doing it! You were executing this role with grace, and polish, and an ease I felt I could only DREAM of possessing!

As a new mom myself, I was constantly thinking, reading, watching, and looking for ways to be a more effective parent. I was okay, but I so wanted to be better. To give my children the life they deserved and were designed to have– meaning that they were loved, cared for, supported, taught, disciplined, and encouraged in the healthiest way I could muster.

I feel as though you were my tutor. Not that this role was self-appointed by you or me. Not that we signed a contract or verbally agreed that this was part of our friendship. It just happened. Naturally.

You’ve often claimed that you are very even-keeled. Never overly passionate or consumed by too much of any one thing. This is such a true piece of you, this level-headed interface with the world around you. You’ve explained it in terms of running, most recently. You have never been a runner. You have enjoyed walking, running, jogging, biking, hiking, and moving your body in a myriad of ways. But you have never been so passionate about running that you wanted to run everyday, or run a marathon, or felt that you needed running as an outlet.

I hope I’ve described that well. You simply don’t have an obsessive, addictive, or dangerously passionate personality. But you DO have a PASSION for MOTHERHOOD. You are an expert to boot. I wish I had a count of how many times I shared the 3 day potty training manual you gave me when our first little boys were ready.

I wish I had a dime for every bit of wisdom and insight you have given me over the years. I’d be rich! I have loved sharing the ups and downs of this dance called adulting. It is interesting, fun, and it sure can be complicated and hard at times. I have always shared with you knowing that you would have a thoughtful aspect or perspective to add to any conversation.

Not only are you all about motherhood. You are really, really good at it!!! Your passion shows, your feelings toward that role are open, obvious, and uplifting to others. You are a tribute to the growing and raising of little humans.

Melanie Sorensen, you are a virtuous woman. You are the salt of the Earth. You are made of the best stuff, and you share that kindness, goodness, care, and grounded foundation with those around you effortlessly– free of charge and free of judgement. I am a lucky goose to call you best friend, confidant, and mother mentor.

Love Always,

Megan

P.S. Melanie wrote an awesome post about friendship, motherhood, and the awesome responsibity of parenting full -time.

You can read Melanie’s post here.

Dear A & L,

I didn’t ask you if it was okay to use your names when writing this letter, hence the initials. And I don’t want you to feel self-conscious, or feel as though your grief and sadness at the loss of your beloved yellow lab Alta is at all on display.

I want you to know how sorry I am for her passing. I want you to know that our hearts stretch and reach out to you during this time. It isn’t simply difficult for you, it is so very difficult for your children. As you said to me, they simply just do not understand why she had to go, what this means, how death happens.

They don’t conceive of why Alta couldn’t stay with you forever. Why she won’t be back to stand watch at the end of their sick bed, or chase crickets through the long grass, or lay in the shade of the trampoline on the ranch.

This bond between us humans and our animals is much, much deeper than I imagined. Especially with a puppy like Alta who really becomes like a first child. If you had said some of those things to me– about how deep the love between a person and their puppy runs, or how they become your family, or how they give so much love to you that is irreplaceable– a few years before we got Bailey, I’d have smiled to myself and thought otherwise.

This territory is HARD. Maybe loosing an animal companion is hard because we know of the inevitability of this event– most dogs will never live as long as their human counterparts. But that doesn’t make it any easier when they depart. Does it make it harder?

I have come to believe strongly that all dogs truly do go to heaven. Your words of love and tenderness toward Alta have swelled my heart. I believe, as you do, that our dear companions are taken home to that Creator who gave them life, and that we are reunited with them as we cross the bar from this life into the next. Maybe Alfred Lord Tennyson said it best:

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

The mood this Monday is low– the clouds hang heavy on the mountains, the rain falls quietly and cold. I hope you feel and know that heaven weeps for and with you, too. This love you had is not a small or forgotten thing. Passing time may not ever make it better, or right. There is only the hope of happy meetings in the great beyond.

These seasons and changes, these passings and hopes of restoration– they hit deeply on the nerve of life. Death teaches us the importance of life. It causes us to look to our God and hold those we love closer. Such a lesson never comes easily, and almost always has that heavy, tear-born cry for one more day, one more moment in the sunshine.

May you meet Alta with our Pilot ‘face to face’ in the next saga of this journey– the continuance of life feels sure to me. May you find sweet and comforting solace for your sadness, tender hearts, and pain.

Love,
Megan