Reframe

As previously mentioned, we all have our favorite, go to resilience strategy and, I must confess, this one is a favorite of mine. The idea behind this strategy is to see failure as courage. Even though the outcome may have not been what you wanted, the fact that you tried is worth celebrating. Pat yourself on the back for having the courage to take a risk and try something new.

This strategy is based on the work of one of my favorite authors and leadership guru, Brene Brown. She frequently quotes Teddy Roosevelt who knows a thing or two about loss and resilience. Teddy Roosevelt’s wife and mother both died in the same house on the same day. Can you imagine? He went from the first floor of his home, watched his wife die after giving birth to their daughter, Alice Longworth Roosevelt, and then went up to the third floor of his home to be with his mother while she died. I honestly can’t fathom the depth of pain he must have felt. He then went out west for a couple of years to heal his soul. He set a timer on his pity party—two years—and the rest is history. (For a more detailed description of the deaths and the impact they had on Roosevelt’s life, read The Bully Pulpit by Doris Kearns Goodwin). When Teddy Roosevelt talks about loss, pain, and failure, I take him at his word. So does Brene Brown who titled one of her books on leadership, Daring Greatly, after Roosevelt’s words. As Teddy Roosevelt writes,

I don’t know about you, but that quotation gives me goosebumps. Of course, I’d like to change all the references about men daring greatly to gender-neutral nouns but, given the period in which it was written, I’ll give Teddy a pass on that one. This quotation should inspire everyone to get out there and fail. The crime is not in the failing, it’s in the not trying.

This quotation explains why I have a lot of respect for people who run for political office. Setting political opinions aside, it takes great courage to run for public office. I’m a chicken and so embarrassed about the possibility of losing, that I’ve not applied for awards, fellowships, and jobs because I was afraid of what people would think of me if I failed to achieve my aspirations. When someone enters a political race, unless they are running unopposed, someone is going to lose. And in politics, losing is a front-page newspaper story. Not only must politicians contend with the disappointment and expense of losing a political contest, they also have their failure broadcast on national TV. I’d rather die.

Teddy Roosevelt and his fan, Brene Brown, helped change the way I looked at failure. Instead of being ashamed of failing, which was all I knew, the Roosevelt quotation turns that upside down. Teddy Roosevelt and Brene Brown tell us to be proud of our failure, because, even though it didn’t go as we expected, we had the courage to try. And I couldn’t agree more.

I used this strategy a couple of years ago when I applied for an associate dean position at my school. In hindsight, thank goodness I did not get the job. It would have been terrible for me (my heart is in teaching, not administering) and it would not have been good for the College. But at the time, I thought I wanted to be an associate dean and I dutifully sent in my application. To my embarrassment, I didn’t even get a first-round interview.

Let me clarify that for you. In the search committees I’ve been on, we always grant inside candidates a courtesy interview. Within the committee we may have no intention of seriously considering an insider’s application, but if it comes from an inside candidate, we give a first-round courtesy interview. I didn’t even get that! How embarrassing. I was rejected right off the bat. Maybe the committee reached the same conclusion I eventually reached—I would not have made a good associate dean. But the least they could have done was give me a first-round courtesy interview.

I was crushed and embarrassed. Keep in mind, only the search committee, my family (who also thought applying for the job was a terrible idea), and a few very close friends knew I applied. It wasn’t like the world knew I failed to get an interview, much less a job. And yet, I thought everyone on campus was mocking my failure. The truth is, no one knew and no one cared. My interpretation of the rejection was that my colleagues were so unimpressed with my credentials and experience that they didn’t even consider me a worthy candidate.

My thoughts started spiraling downward. “They must think I’m an idiot.” “What a joke—they didn’t even want to take the time to talk to me,” “They are probably laughing at me now.” And the thoughts go down from there. Once again, who knows what the committee was thinking. For all I know, my application got lost in technology. I don’t know. But instead of admitting I can’t read minds or overhear confidential committee meetings, I assumed I had failed: miserably and publicly.

Then I remembered the “see failure as courage” strategy and started to reframe the experience from one of embarrassing failure to one of pride. That’s right. I re-evaluated the process and decided to be proud that I had the courage to apply for the position. I had never applied for an administrative position before. Good for me for trying something new. While other faculty members were standing around the copy machine, complaining, I had the courage to apply for the position. Instead of sitting around moaning about the problem, I wrote my job letter outlining where the College was falling short and what steps I would take to change it. Instead of complaining in the hallway, I had the courage to step up and say what I would do to change. Instead of being ashamed, I became proud that I took a risk. Maybe I failed, but at least I tried. I think Teddy R. would have been proud of me too.

I love it when my students use this strategy because it really reinforces the power of taking a risk and trying something new. Teaching college, it is impossible to not notice the impact that relationships—usually with another gender—have on my students’ well-being and mental health. Many a resilience paper has been written about a failed relationship—usually with a boyfriend, but sometimes with a roommate or a sorority sister. And while I don’t begin to understand the mating rituals of my college students, I do remember the pain of waiting to be chosen—for a prom date, a night out, or an intramural basketball team. Consequently, I was curious and proud when a woman wrote a resilience paper about asking a guy out. She had been eyeing him in class and had worked with him on a couple of group projects. She threw caution to the wind and drummed up the courage to ask him out instead of waiting for him to ask her. What a nice option. And I bet there are shy, introverted men out there who would love it if a woman asked them out, so they didn’t have to. But in this case, his answer was no. She was rejected and failed in her request. But instead of being down and out, and feeling like a failure, she decided to see failure as courage. Even though she was hesitant to ask a boy out, she did it anyway and was proud of herself for asking. I couldn’t agree more. She did it. And even though this one didn’t have the ending she hoped for, she also didn’t spend hours waiting for the phone to ring and hoping it was him. She asked, she got her answer, and she moved on. Good for her.

In addition to the previous example, my students tend to use this strategy when applying for stretch jobs. They may not get the job, but every time, they are proud of themselves for applying. And the good news, is I have no idea when they finally succeed. The power comes from getting over the failure. If you can do that, the success will come.

When you put yourself out there and become vulnerable, public “failure” is embarrassing. Campaigning for a student government office and not winning the election is humiliating. Applying for a stretch job is scary but, if you don’t apply, the answer is always no. Reframe “failure” as courage. It’s easy to stay on the sidelines and criticize others, like the Monday morning armchair quarterback. But you had the courage to actually be in the ring. Be proud of yourself and pat yourself on the back. You go girl!