*This post about failures had to be re-edited because of a, well, failure.
"I am taking driving lessons again", said I to my family on New Year's Eve. I uttered those words nervously, awaiting their reactions. It might seem like an average statement, but in my case, it wasn’t. Driving was one of the things that everyone does, yet I had not been able to master, like whistling or blowing bubble gums. I had taken my first classes about 6 years ago and a couple months later I left the country, moving to a city where one can perfectly live without a car. However, it didn’t matter how “successful” I was professionally in their eyes, driving had become an ever-present - and ever-dreaded- subject, like most people’s cliché “when are you getting married?”.
One month later, I was sitting behind a wheel, trying to force my long-lost knowledge back to my brain. Surprisingly, it was a lovely class. It took place at 3 PM on a sunny afternoon and, with only a few people on the streets, I could not only drive calmly, but also appreciate the marvelous Kalorama neighborhood, the scenery my instructor chose for this "milestone". I ended the class feeling empowered, like I could master anything I set my mind on.
Nonetheless, my second class was a completely different story. It took place two days later during rush hour. It was pitch dark and besides the maddening traffic, I almost ran over a rat 10 minutes into the session. It got worse when the instructor took me to the driveway: we kept doing the same turns, but I didn’t notice, given how nervous I was. I couldn’t take my eyes off the front to look at the mirror on my right. I realized then that's where my blind side was. Needless to say, I got home with a headache and a piercing feeling of failure.
After giving the experience some thought, I promised myself I would take more lessons and practice until I became a decent driver. However, little did I- or anyone, really- know that in a couple of weeks, the pandemic of COVID-19 would condemn us all to isolation.
It was in that isolation where I one day woke up with a crippling feeling: anxiety. Likely a byproduct of a dream, this anxiety came in waves, reminding me of all of the failures I have had in my life. Not only did my driving lapses come back, so did other memories I didn't even know I had. I remembered my ex-boyfriends and the platonic crushes that never came to be; I recalled the tests I studied really hard for and ended up failing anyway; I remembered the university professor that gave me a 0 for not attending a class the day my grandpa almost died; I remembered all the lessons I took- tennis, singing, swimming, skating, piano- which I dropped after realizing I would never be the best at them; I thought about my body and self-esteem issues, fostered by a society that worships one’s physical appearance above all; I thought of the money carelessly spent, the alcohol carelessly drunk and the classes I got distracted at. I remembered the time I fell off my bike, getting multiple bruises and developing a fear of riding unsupervised. I made a mental list of all the average things I’m not good at, like reading maps, fixing things and cooking (this I’m finally not-so-terrible at).
Days later, aware of the fact that these thoughts are the result of both, a long-due introspection and forced isolation, I was feeling better, but still reflexive. What stands between these failures and my goals? My answer was: the blind side.
Then, much like Carrie Bradshaw, I couldn’t help but wonder: what is on my blind side? What lies on that grey zone I am so fearful of? Many draft answers came to mind. Is it perhaps fear of finding how imperfect I actually am? Have I tried to be perfect, or at least very good, all these years, unconsciously avoiding the things I will be terrible at? Can I possibly be this scared of failing, even though I've fallen time after time? Or is it the avoidance of feeling, once again, that I am always going to be second or third best to someone else? Or perhaps, is it that I am not as smart as I have come to see myself and I am just simply not meant to do the things that appear easy milestones for everyone else? Am I scared of my own potential or am I plainly clumsy? What is really paralyzing me?
Yesterday, as I was about to publish these heartfelt words, I accidentally deleted the whole thing. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry at the irony of failing at publishing this story about failure. "That was so on-brand", I told myself in the most toxic of ways. It will sound cookie-cutter of me, but then I talked to a friend and decided to do what I always, annoyingly, do: try to find the silver lining. In this case, I guess the lesson was: no matter how inspired you are, always write (and save!) on Word first.
But in the greater scheme of life, I don’t yet have the answer to those failures or pending subjects. In fact, I only have more questions. But this discomfort only makes me want to know myself more deeply and perhaps, make up for the lost time by learning what I can. A lot of time has gone by, but I guess I still have some to prove myself I am capable of that and more. Ultimately, I want to love me for me, regardless of being a terrible driver or not knowing how to blow bubble gums. Today, I don’t want to whine, I just want to get better (and why not, get a well-deserved glass of wine). After all, being positive is one of the things I am good at.
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