The Gift of Merci

Chapter 20 - Evolving Through Failure

Life has a way of teaching us lessons, often in its most unexpected and cruel moments. People drift away, and disappear, leaving us to pick up the shattered pieces. Today should have been my honor's convocation, yet here I am, confined to my deathbed, unable even to reach for my laptop.

I wonder who claimed the top spot today.

Pause, Sage. It's alright if you have nothing to post. You're still the same sage, despite everything.

I feel like a failure.

I've attempted and stumbled at so many things, losing track of the failures along the way. It's not a lack of discipline—there are myriad reasons. Sometimes, I realized I didn't love it as much as I thought; other times, I found myself overwhelmed, lost, and unprepared. Financial constraints, laziness, hitting insurmountable obstacles—the list goes on. I failed.

MythBusters' Adam Savage once said, "Failure is always an option." Perhaps I watched the show too much, but that statement struck a chord. It's a potential outcome—I can prepare for it, but if it occurs, I need to accept it and move forward, right?

"Samantha, Top 1, With High Honors. Averaging 97.4%," the announcement echoed, marking my rival's triumph this time.

I hurriedly scanned my emails and checked my grades.

Calculus - F

Chemistry - F

Statistics - B

RWS – B

Disbelief washed over me. I rubbed my eyes repeatedly, hoping reality had played a cruel trick on me. The only sound was the relentless thumping of my heart: thump, thump, thump.

Tears streamed down my face.

"This can't be..." With sweat rolling down my face, I summoned the strength to rise.

"I got the lowest marks," my voice faltered.

Damn. The tears won't stop.

"Shhh, It's going to be alright. Failing once, twice, or even thrice doesn't define you. It doesn't mean you should abandon yourself, that you lack talent or worth, that you're an embarrassment. The most successful, renowned people in this world have failed countless times. Your mistakes don't diminish you; they signify growth. They represent your willingness to take risks."

In that moment, I knew everything would change.

----

Failure has been a familiar companion since seventh grade when I barely scored three out of ten on a chemistry quiz despite excelling in science competitions before. I shook hands with failure when my victory in an essay contest didn't result in placing later on. And when a book company rejected me for the fifth time despite an internship interview, failure and I were well-acquainted.

I've grown comfortable with failure, finding growth in every setback. Yet, what stings more than failure itself are the unfulfilled successes.

International science programs I couldn't afford, colleges beyond my financial reach despite scholarships, an internship offer I couldn't accept due to my packed schedule, and a leadership position I had to decline to prioritize academics and well-being.

Recently, a dream-like opportunity surfaced—an internship at a multinational company related to my major. But with a full class schedule next semester, I couldn't commit, even though the role was paid and required minimal office time.

Such is life. The application felt like a leap of faith, and securing interviews seemed a victory, yet reality imposed its constraints. As I prepared to decline the offer, my college advisor's visible relief mirrored my thoughts. She hinted at the decision without explicitly saying so, trying not to let me down—an amusing scenario I've encountered before.

Some find it surprising how frequently I use LinkedIn, almost as often as other social platforms. Applying to three internships in a night might not be the norm, but that's who I am. I'm unafraid to put myself out there, submit work, or email professors. Rejection, no response, or looking foolish doesn't daunt me. I make it a game to collect rejections; in the best scenario, I achieve a few wins, and at worst, I gain experience from "shooting my shot."

But at times, I tire of merely gaining experience. I've pondered what life might be like had I had enough funds to pursue a population health major in Pennsylvania or attended the science writing program in Ohio, canceled due to the pandemic. Despite being accepted, it didn't materialize.

There'll be more opportunities ahead but with a heavier workload and busier schedule. Life doesn't always align perfectly. Factors beyond my control—money, time, distance—weigh heavily in my decisions. Saying no means knowing what I'm missing, even when I have little choice.

My high school UCSP teacher emphasized a crucial lesson on opportunity costs: "When you choose, you must necessarily refuse. You are not a lesser person because of it." Reframing my decisions reveals that rejecting an internship means saying "yes" to focusing on graduating on time, and declining a leadership position means prioritizing my well-being.

I'm human. Like everyone, I've dreamt big, and set lofty goals, sometimes more substantial than life itself. I wasn't always this brave; self-rejection preceded external rejection. Yet, I've gleaned lessons from acceptances, and rejections, especially from the acceptances I couldn't seize.

These experiences taught me: that I'm good enough to get in, professors are willing to write recommendations, and I possess valuable skills, albeit not always the precise ones required for specific roles.

They've shown me that whatever happens, wherever I land, I'll be alright. Every trial, heartbreak, and disappointment led to growth. Even in moments of worry about the future, this thought brings solace.

I feel less remorse about the canceled summer program, the unaffordable international university, and the time-crunched internship. Circumstances weren't aligned, and while I was capable, they simply weren't in my favor.

Something new will come next time, perhaps something even better. And isn't that exciting?