Failing More and Loving It!

Because so many readers enjoyed this blog, I am reposting it. Happy reading!

When I was growing up, the worst thing that could happen to me was to fail, especially in school. My parents prized good grades, and I dutifully complied, racking up lots of 100s, gold stars, and honors commendations on my report cards. Until I got to the 7th grade. I hit a wall with math that year–must have been the “new math” that was in vogue at the time. I remember the strange terminology about sets and confusing word problems. One day when I got a test back, the was a big red “D” at the top of the page. I can still remember the sick feeling that spread over my body. I remember feeling like my cheeks were on fire. I dreaded going home. How would I explain that failure?  What would my parents say? Would I be punished?

Ann in 1st grade

I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I do remember the awful feelings I carried and the angry self-talk chattering away in my head about failure. Thankfully, my teacher helped me to understand the concepts, and I moved on. I think that was the last “D” I ever got. But no one ever told me that failure was really part of learning and mistakes were a necessary part of moving forward. No one ever got honors for mistakes. And no one talked about the value of failure until I found the creativity people.

The Florida Creativity Conference in Sarasota, Florida, has offered a rich array of workshops and presentations over the course of a March weekend  every year for the past 13 years. I started attending in 2008 with the encouragement of Anthony Hyatt, a wonderful violinist who uses his talents to bring joy through music in retirement communities and hospitals.  Anthony and I met in 2008 at a networking event for creative entrepreneurs, and he spoke so positively about the conference that I decided to go–in 2008 and every year since.

I remember telling a friend, “It’s really a shame that I had to be an adult in my 50s before I could experience learning in such a playful environment.”  And because learning is actually experimental to a large degree, there is always the possibility of failure. But the creativity folks don’t shy away from failure–they embrace it. In fact, one of my first experiences at the conference involved an improv game where we formed a big circle in a large classroom and played “Celebrate Failure.” As soon as the leader named a brand of car, the person he pointed to had to name three models of that car–three two-syllable models and we had to snap with each syllable.

What happened next was the big surprise. As soon as someone had a turn–and could’t snap and name the cars, we all cheered and said, “Congratulations!  You failed.”  It probably sounds silly when I say it to you, but the lesson resonated with each one of us who played the game. After we had all “failed,” we discussed the power of reframing our experiences and asking what we learned from something that didn’t work out.

Celebrate!
Celebrate!

“Did you learn anything?” became my new mantra whenever I tried an experimental  lesson  in my writing classes, especially when I didn’t get the results I had hoped for. No more sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. No more cheeks flaming with shame. Now I think about the “Failure Game” and remember the fun of everyone cheering together.

I’d like to leave you with a thought from one of my favorite poets, David Whyte. In one of his talks about being authentic and being willing to take risks, he talks about the tasks of the soul. David says something like, “The soul doesn’t care if you failed or you succeeded. All the soul cares about is did you learn something?  If you did, then the soul celebrates.”

Failing More, and Loving It!: Lessons from Creativity

When I was growing up, the worst thing that could happen to me was to fail, especially in school. My parents prized good grades, and I dutifully complied, racking up lots of 100s, gold stars, and honors commendations on my report cards. Until I got to the 7th grade. I hit a wall with math that year–must have been the “new math” that was in vogue at the time. I remember the strange terminology about sets and confusing word problems. One day when I got a test back, the was a big red “D” at the top of the page. I can still remember the sick feeling that spread over my body. I remember feeling like my cheeks were on fire. I dreaded going home. How would I explain that failure?  What would my parents say? Would I be punished?

Ann in 1st grade

I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I do remember the awful feelings I carried and the angry self-talk chattering away in my head about failure. Thankfully, my teacher helped me to understand the concepts, and I moved on. I think that was the last “D” I ever got. But no one ever told me that failure was really part of learning and mistakes were a necessary part of moving forward. No one ever got honors for mistakes. And no one talked about the value of failure until I found the creativity people.

The Florida Creativity Conference in Sarasota, Florida, has offered a rich array of workshops and presentations over the course of a March weekend  every year for the past 13 years. I started attending in 2008 with the encouragement of Anthony Hyatt, a wonderful violinist who uses his talents to bring joy through music in retirement communities and hospitals.  Anthony and I met in 2008 at a networking event for creative entrepreneurs, and he spoke so positively about the conference that I decided to go–in 2008 and every year since.

I remember telling a friend, “It’s really a shame that I had to be an adult in my 50s before I could experience learning in such a playful environment.”  And because learning is actually experimental to a large degree, there is always the possibility of failure. But the creativity folks don’t shy away from failure–they embrace it. In fact, one of my first experiences at the conference involved an improv game where we formed a big circle in a large classroom and played “Celebrate Failure.” As soon as the leader named a brand of car, the person he pointed to had to name three models of that car–three two-syllable models and we had to snap with each syllable.

What happened next was the big surprise. As soon as someone had a turn–and could’t snap and name the cars, we all cheered and said, “Congratulations!  You failed.”  It probably sounds silly when I say it to you, but the lesson resonated with each one of us who played the game. After we had all “failed,” we discussed the power of reframing our experiences and asking what we learned from something that didn’t work out.

Celebrate!
Celebrate!

“Did you learn anything?” became my new mantra whenever I tried an experimental  lesson  in my writing classes, especially when I didn’t get the results I had hoped for. No more sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. No more cheeks flaming with shame. Now I think about the “Failure Game” and remember the fun of everyone cheering together.

I’d like to leave you with a thought from one of my favorite poets, David Whyte. In one of his talks about being authentic and being willing to take risks, he talks about the tasks of the soul. David says something like, “The soul doesn’t care if you failed or you succeeded. All the soul cares about is did you learn something?  If you did, then the soul celebrates.”

 

Creating a Container: Part Two

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Ann’s July mandala

July’s blogs and my social media posts are all centered around the theme of freedom. Personal freedom. Freedom to think and say what you want. Freedom to explore. Freedom to succeed. Freedom to begin again.

But there’s always a downside when we have lots of things to choose from. For example, I don’t like shopping at Wegman’s because it’s a huge store filled with many varieties of the same item. When I’m faced with long aisles and many iterations of a product—like yogurt—I start feeling a little anxious and want to leave the store. My body is telling me that there’s too much to process.

After I returned from the 100Thousand Poets for Change Conference in Salerno, I started feeling overwhelmed by the many obligations and opportunities that waited for me—answering email, booking readings, blogging, writing new poems. I had trouble getting started every morning and more trouble staying focused. So much to do and so little motivation. I was as scattered as the flowers popping up in my garden.

My daughter came to visit last week and I told her I felt unfocused and frustrated. She’s taking an art therapy course and shared what she’s been learning about mandalas. She explained that coloring or drawing mandalas can help you to feel calmer and more centered. “Like having a container,” I thought. And I love to color, especially with colored pencils. She even gave me a mandala coloring book to help me get started.

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Ann’s mandala completed in June

In a previous blog post, I talked about using container poems, or form poems as a way to help the reader and the writer access difficult material. The form of the poem forces the writer to limit word choices and line lengths. Using a formal structure also seems to help contain the difficult feelings or experiences one is writing about. And for the reader, knowing that every third line will rhyme or seeing a phrase repeated throughout a poem reassures the reader that the poet is capable of serving as a trusted guide through difficult territory.

So how does a mandala help me to feel centered? I’ve incorporated the coloring as a part of my daily prayer and meditation routine. As I work on completing a segment of the mandala every morning, I get lost in the back and forth movement of my hands as I shade in the designs. I linger over my color choices. I choose one section of the circle to work on and focus on completing it.

Maybe the activity of coloring taps into that old part of me that used to love to lie on the floor with a coloring book for hours at a time. Now when I color a mandala, I feel calmer. By completing a couple of sections a day, I see my mandala take on a new form. I think that feeling of calm is transferring over to my writing and enabling me to write or revise a poem every day. One poem at a time, I am moving towards my goal of finishing another book.

Here’s a place where you can download mandalas for free. I encourage my readers to color one, take a picture, and post it here so we can all enjoy their beauty.