Failure

We all fail. We fail to keep promises; fail to listen; fail to be a good friend; fail to uphold our values. Some of my greatest learnings have come from failure – failure to finish college; failure to prevent a young person from failing middle school; failure to be a good partner. So what role should or does failure play in leadership?

I’ve always thought that owning up to your failures and then trying not to repeat them was the point of failure. If you could be honest, reflect, and then modify your behavior then you are doing what is “right”. I’m not quite sure about that any more.

As I move down my path towards leadership, I realize that my failures have become more significant and that my failures have a rippling effect on others. As I become more connected to others around me, I can’t help feel a greater sense of responsibility.

When I was younger, I shirked responsibility. My house was a mess. I didn’t keep obligations. I was argumentative with almost all authority figures. I wanted to forge my own way without considering how “going it alone” might have an adverse effect on what I was trying to accomplish. I thought no one else could possibly understand what I was going through.

One of my greatest failures was to my family. As an angry post-adolescent, I cut of ties to my parents for almost four years. I was trying to make sense of who I really was, and I needed to cut out voices that I felt impeded me from hearing my own voice. I did this without any regard for or sense of what my parents felt, thought, or believed. I know it hurt them, but I was too consumed with becoming “me” that I pushed those thoughts from my head. “Oh…it’s someone ‘else’,” I told myself. I never really considered that that “else” had their own uniquely valuable experience.

Later, when my parents and I started speaking again, I didn’t really apologize for my actions. I remember chalking up to me being immature or needing to find myself. I remember avoiding the conversation, saying “You really wouldn’t understand.” I never appreciated how difficult that experience was for them, nor how many compromises they had to make as a result of me.

This is not to say that I didn’t need that separation. Reflecting on the experience, I definitely needed the space. I am who I am and I am where I am because of it. I have amazing friends who are more like family. (The other night, I had an impromptu dinner party and one of my friends leaned over to me as she was leaving and said “Thanks. I needed some family time.”) I have a career, not just a job. I have a strong sense of independence, and I am no longer afraid to be by myself. I know at least a little more of who I am.

I am also not saying that other good did not come from that separation. My parents and I now have a much stronger relationship. I see that both of my parents are more independent and happier than I ever remember. And my siblings are all blazing their own trails. It is a wonderful gift to see this growth.

What I have learned is that all of us, individually and collectively, are resilient. We bounce back from failure; we are stronger because of failure; we grow because of failure. My failure with my family brought about much needed changes to out family dynamic. My failing college has given me tenacity within my career and birthed innovation because I feel the need to push myself even harder. My failure at preventing a youth from failing middle school forced me to reflect on my practice, my intention, and my beliefs. It made me even more dedicated to academics and focused me on questioning the role after school plays in closing the achievement gap. (I’m still unsure of what the true role is. But instead of brushing the question aside, I now ask: how can after school programs bridge the divide between school, youth, family, and community? In my opinion, someone has to be the bridge builder and after school can at least propose a blueprint.)

As I move down my path towards leadership, what role does failure play? How do I account for failure? How do I minimize its impact on those to whom I am connected?

I know I don’t have the answer. I’m not sure I ever will because that is part of the nature of failure – you sometimes don’t know you’ve failed until it is staring you in the face.

What I can do is freely talk about my failures, learn as much as I can from them, and try not to repeat them. I can admit to them and accept the consequences. Ultimately, I can allow myself to be human.

Side note: I started writing this post last week. In my discussion with my coach, we decided to have a lesson of failing at three things over the course of the week. One of my failures was not putting up a post last week. It was an interesting experience for me. I am normally very one top of my work. It took a lot of will to consciously fail something. I feel blessed that I did fail as it reinforced what I believe. Thanks Coach!

Lessons from My Mentors

I imagine that I will continually be on my path towards leadership. Leadership to me is a journey never reaching towards an end goal. Instead, it is the path. It twists, turns, intersects with other paths, diverges, and brings me back to the beginning. While on the path, I meet people, smell flowers, hear the sounds of the city, see the glowing stars of the night sky.

The people I meet on the path are people like Betsy. They are mentors. They have something to share. They seek something themselves. They walk alongside me for a portion of the path.

I meet and recognize these mentors because I see them walking on their path. Maybe we have been walking parallel for a long time, and I finally look to my right or left and notice that they too share a similar path. Maybe they are walking a path that is perpendicular to mine, and I have seen them in the distance slowly getting closer and closer. From whichever direction they are coming, one thing is constant – at some point both of our paths converge.

When these paths converge, multiple possibilities await. One is a quick greeting and acknowledging of each other on the path. It’s the “Hello, my name is…It is a pleasure to meet you” kind of conversation. Our paths diverge again quickly, and both of us have changed because of our connecting.

Another possibility is the quiet greeting. We find ourselves on the same path, nod to each other, and continue walking together silently. At some point we might say something, but it is not necessary. This mentor exists for silent support. The fact that we are walking together is the mentorship. Once again, our paths will diverge with only a nod as our good-bye.

A mentor like Betsy is someone on a parallel path. This type of mentor almost always is someone I already know – someone who has been walking on their own path, and I just haven’t seen it. I become aware of it because their path slowly starts getting closer. Then there is some incident, like the lifeboat exercise, that makes me notice them. There is a conscious shift in the relationship.

This type of mentor is someone I intrinsically trust. It is someone who points out the divots in the road, lends a hand when I fall, walks slightly behind me to see where I go. They point out forks in the road, and we discuss which ones to take. Sometimes they are together. Sometimes they are separate.

For all types of mentors, when the moment comes to go our separate ways, there a few ways it concludes. Sometimes it is slowly abrupt. It is like that moment right before warp speed where you can see everything stretching in every direction and then suddenly you are no longer where you were without your mentor next to you. Sometimes it is gradual like the branching out of an ancient bristlecone pine where time seems to stand still. The trunk of the tree is the same, and both you and your mentor grow into new branches. You are still a part of the same organism, but you experience the world differently now and somewhat independently.

One thing in common with all these mentors is that we foster each others’ values. We don’t share every single value, but there is some overlap and that overlap strengthens both of us. We grow independently together.

My current trajectory on the path has a combination of mentors. Betsy and Mrs. Bishop now walk invisibly beside me. My memories and reflections of them have called their spirit and their intention into existence. I notice thoughts, feelings, and ideas inspired by them all around me. My values of transformation, integrity, explorations, stem from them.

Mentors that silently walk alongside me are my granny, my parents, and my husband. We don’t ever need to speak of mentoring because I know they support me, love me, and transform me. They are the ones who I love unconditionally and with whom I am most loyal.

I also have a number of the “Hello my name is…” mentors. They quickly come and go on the path, and they nurture my values of gathering, convergence, and connection. Some of these mentors I will find alongside me further down the path. Some I will never see again. Some I will circle back to.

I also have a number of the final type of mentor; the kind of mentor Betsy was in my middle and high school days. They are the Margarets and Kicas of my life. They help show me other directions my path can take. They also include people like my dear friends Aldo, Michael, and Rebecca. They nurture my values of humor and joy, innovation, honesty, and exploration.

As I continue on this path, it is important that I continue to be aware of the various mentors that surround me. Each and every person I connect to in life has the possibility of being a mentor. I just need to remain open, honest, and value all that intersects my path. As the Tao Te Ching states, “If you keep your mind from judging and aren’t led by the senses, your heart will find peace.” Or you may find a mentor.