There is Security in Familiar Failure

Okay, I normally don't do this. But let me offer some advice based on personal experience. Take steps to do more even when it would hurt to fail.

My basic view is that it is more comforting to fail to try to succeed rather than failing while trying to succeed.

Look, I'm not a millionaire who clawed his way to the top and stands astride the world like a Colossus. When I was running around Detroit, I never imagined I'd live in another world, which is what Ann Arbor is by contrast. Yes, my car is ten years old and has over 250,000 miles on it. But I'm not a car person, so there you go. It works and is still reliable. When it is neither I'll buy a new one.

But I'm comfortable. And happy, generally. Look, if I get hit in the face with a plank, I will yell "ouch." Being generally happy does not mean being oblivious to misfortune. But not every decision to do more is financially based. I've never actually had a mid-life crisis--well past the time I should have had one!--so I don't think I'm suppressing deeply held doubts and regrets.

So feel free to disregard my advice. There's a good chance you are doing far better than I am financially. So this really isn't a chance to boast. This is offered as a new year begins when resolutions are often made, in a genuine effort to offer some advice that I think is useful to some people.

Your mileage may vary.

So there you go. I say it is comforting to fail to try to succeed because as long as you don't put something you value to the test, you don't risk failing at something you value. Even if staying in your rut leaves you floundering in your life, you can take comfort by telling yourself that if only you would try to succeed at X, you'd do well. But the time isn't right, just now.

But when you face decisions to move to the next level, take those steps. Even if it is scary.

When I look back on my life so far, I can identify several steps I took that were a leap that rested on my ability to make good on my conceits of what I could do. It would have been safer not to test my beliefs on what I could do. But I took the steps. Let's take a tour, shall we?

I refused to finance my college education on student loans.

When I looked at the financial aid I qualified for, I only accepted the grants and really low interest loans. I turned down the far larger guaranteed student loans because it horrified me--even at 17--to ponder taking on that much debt.

So I graduated with a BA with very little debt, with manageable monthly payments. I eventually ended up working up to 30 hours a week while in school, but I was able to do it. It would have been safer to take all the money the government and university would give me and just be a traditional student working nominally just for extra spending money.

But I needed that experience of needing to work to make the rent and buy food (and Lord knows how I had the extra cash to buy booze on the scale I did then). It was scary to be in that position. But it made me work hard and show up to work every day when I was supposed to.

So I was better prepared for a career and not burdened with debt just as I was starting out life. It was a good foundation.

I flunked out of the University of Michigan--and then returned to graduate.

Yeah, that's not something I usually boast about. Although I do enjoy using the line, "I loved being a sophomore at the University of Michigan--they were the best three years of my life." I'm not hesitant to mention it, since it worked out well. But it isn't something I even like to raise as long as my children remain shy of their BAs. No need to tempt fate.

In my own defense, I started out as a computer science and math major. I was really good at math and programming in high school. I tested well on it. I was one of only two students in my high school class to qualify to take a math scholarship test (although I didn't get it). I took both every math class and every history class my high school offered. I loved history. But I didn't see a future in that. So I began my college life as a computer science major.

But I hated math. And I did well in computer science until I finally realized I hated math and would not do well in at a the college level. Then the bottom dropped out of my grades. I went on academic probation after my second term.

This part about flunking out and returning is actually about four leaps.

I decided to double down on math. This leap didn't work out that well. On the surface. After I went on academic probation (with a GPA of 1.99something--oh, so close!), I took even more math classes, including physics, for the next term. I hated math and it eventually showed. So my GPA dropped even more and I was out. But it at least finally disabused me of the notion that I had to be a computer science major.

I decided I'd be a political science major. It seemed like a compromise between history and serving coffee or a major that would pay but which I had no interest in completing. I could go to the CIA or State Department with that kind of a degree. But at least I was pointed in a new direction to keep moving forward.

I decided to do what it took to finish at the University of Michigan in a field of my choice. So there I was. Flunked out. Failure. But I didn't feel like a failure. My GPA was balanced between truly abysmal grades in math and good grades on non-math. I knew I could succeed at Michigan.

Rather than moving home and just seeing what happened, I stayed in Ann Arbor. I got a job washing dishes (jobs were scarce then, I was lucky to get that). I paid the rent and got by. I reapplied for admission but was rejected.

So I went to the local community college for a term. I didn't treat this as a humiliation but as an opportunity. I went to classes, worked hard to get "A"s when I could have scraped by doing the minimum, and was readmitted to Michigan on the basis of that. I was on probation academically, and took political science and related history courses. It felt so good to do that!

But just to be defiant, I took that physics course I flunked on the way out.

I raised my GPA above minimums after that first term back and padded the distance every term after that until I graduated. That was a satisfying test.

I decided to stand on my own feet financially. Rather than continue to be a dependent on my parents' tax returns, I gained independent student status. On the one hand, it got better financial aid for me. On the downside, I'd have to rely on my own resources for the balance far more than I had in the past.

But it was a success. I went to school and I worked. Heck, I even joined a fraternity with all the time that took. I still see some of those guys.

And knowing that I could rely on myself has paid off all my life, so far. There is satisfaction in knowing what you have--whatever it is--is your accomplishment. Yes, you did build that.

I decided to test my academic abilities by not working for one semester. I worked a lot. So that limited my studying time. Indeed, I took failing grades in some classes rather than drop them just because I needed to maintain full-time student status to qualify for the financial aid I did accept (actually, I think I got a Hat Trick by getting every possible grade or notation that it was possible to get on your transcript).

It was comforting to think that I could do so much better if I didn't have to work at a job. After all, when I came back to school, I went off academic probation after that first term and never flirted with that status again. But could I really excel academically if I didn't work?

It would have been comforting to accept my mix of "A"s and "B"s in my new major and say I'd do better if I could just study. But there'd eventually be doubt. Maybe it could evolve into an excuse. If only I'd been able to focus on grades my life would be better. That's no way to live life.

So I looked at my finances. I decided that I could afford to not work for a single semester and just take classes. A scraped by money-wise. And I got an A- average for the term. So I took a leap on my ability to get the As and made it. That was a satisfying leap, at the price of living poorly for a term. It was a good purchase.

Heck, I ended up double-majoring--history and political science. And even my credits in math-related courses got me my distribution credits without the humiliation of taking dumbed down "rocks for jocks" courses designed for history and political science majors, in addition to athletes.

So college was an education in more than just the classroom. Life should teach you things, even if you don't get credits.

I enlisted in the Army National Guard and went off to basic training in my mid-20s.

I had made the leap to history and political science. I fancied myself as knowledgeable on military matters. But I never did serve in the military. I always had the comforting knowledge that I was registered for the draft and if the Cold War went hot, I'd serve.

I was in my mid-20s with a degree I thought was appropriate for a national security career. But I hadn't served in uniform. My brothers did. My dad did. My grandfathers did. I didn't. That felt wrong.

And with a relationship that seemed headed for marriage, heading off to Washington, D.C., with my cat to seek employment in the CIA or State Department was no longer in the cards.

So I decided to join the Army National Guard (and earn an MA). The risk was spoiling my national security cred by actually testing my ability to be a soldier and failing. It would have been so much easier to just be a civilian expert, no? But I'd have had doubts if I hadn't taken that test.

And I passed it. I learned about the military in ways I couldn't appreciate as a civilian.

And it paid off in credibility in writing about military matters more than credits in history and political science provided. Indeed, in one seminar I went to at an American History Association convention, a well known scholar in military justice repeatedly apologized or made note of his lack of actual military experience. He--with all he'd written--could have some doubts and regrets about that hole in his background.

I took the leap and landed on the other side, with both personal and professional payoffs.

I taught American history at a community college.

This isn't really the biggest leap I made, but it paid off in the most obvious ways.

With a master's degree in history, teaching seemed the most logical employment path. My intention was to follow that career path even though teaching wasn't my first choice--or even second or third, truth be told. But I was married and in a low-level job that bored me so much I sometimes thought I'd explode.

And getting a part-time gig (because the teacher scheduled to teach the class choked on a piece of meat and so couldn't speak!) would start me on the path.

The funny thing is, I really enjoyed teaching. I did it for three terms. And it prepared me for my eventual career in three ways--it put a major-related job on my resume', it forced me to start buying professional clothing, and it got me back into routine driving and a start on commuting after many years of not using a car while a student.

I eventually got a job as a researcher in Lansing that required suit and tie and a 70+ mile commute each way. Deciding to take a path--even one I didn't want to take--led me to a branch that turned into a job I loved, with people who were a joy to work with.

I left the comfortable nest of low-paid employment at the University of Michigan for a career I never anticipated.

To start those two decades of working in Lansing, in a field I never imagined, I had to leave the safe if low-paying job at the University of Michigan library system.

I saw plenty of people who had spent their working lives there. There was prestige in working for Michigan even if you are just getting by financially.

But I was primed to leave, having told the big boss of the library in a division meeting (I'm sure my immediate bosses loved sitting there while I did this) that while I liked the people I worked with, the pay was so low that there was precious little reason to stay. I told him that with an MA, I made less than a private first class in the United States Army. I had first-hand knowledge of that, as my haircut implied.

I was actually getting ready to distance myself from the library. Wanting to write, but with a full-time job and a part-time teaching job, I never seemed to have time to write. So I cleared with my boss a three-month reduction in time to 3/4-time with the intent of finishing a book I had started.

As an aside, I almost sold that book and it sits in a box in the middle of a reorganization that I really should get around to finishing.

So I was leaning out. Then came a call out of the blue from Lansing from my future boss who saw my MA from Eastern Michigan matched their needs. Would I like to come up for an interview?

Why, yes. Yes I would.

So I did. I made the second, longer interview, and aced that, too, complete with research and writing tests.

But accepting the job wasn't as easy as you might think. Yes, the pay was much better. And the status, too. But this was so out of my lane that it was scary to think of going into that political environment in a field totally outside my education and interests. I could fail at this.

And then what? Crawl back to the University of Michigan for a job I'm over-qualified for? But this time not having the comfort of just knowing I could do more if I could get out?

Have no doubt, I had many reasons I could have used to turn down the job. It was far away (I was commuting already). I'd need new clothes (but I had a start). I liked teaching, and surely I could get a full time job (so suddenly this path is promising?). And what about my plan to finish my book? (Right, a military history of the Iran-Iraq War has best seller list and movie rights written all over it, huh?) And I'm married! Do I really want to spend so much time away from home? (That might have extended its life span, as it turns out!)

But in the end, it really wasn't a choice. I had to move forward. Mindful of the obstacles, I took the job. It was a good decision.

I decided to become a father.

I never had any intention of becoming a father. My then-wife initially shared my enthusiasm for not being a parent. She changed her mind. That drove a wedge between us. Eventually, I changed my mind on my willingness to be a father if not in my confidence in being a father.

But it turns out that I love being a father. I have two great children who I love and who love me, and couldn't imagine not being a proud father to them. I still understand why people don't want children. They do take time and even when not directly taking time, require your attention and demand a place in your life that affects all other decisions.

And what if I sucked at it? What if I hated it? What if I was incapable of being what I believed I was: an honorable man whose sense of duty would make him do what is right? With children who rely on me (not just me, of course)? What if I could not love my children, as they deserve and need?

But for me, taking that leap paid off so much. In many ways this was the most frightening leap. Because people were on the line. This still a leap in progress, of course. But as each year passes, I grow more confident that my children will enter the adult world successfully.

I decided to really test my writing ability in what I wanted to be my field.

Of course, with a first child on the way, my ambitions of writing had an obstacle clearly set forth in a projected month of birth. I could see myself coming to resent a child for standing in the way of that dream.

So I doubled down on writing. And in the months before my first child was born, won first prize in a writing contest about Army issues. And I agreed to present it at an Army convention. By this time, domestic policy issues were in my lane and defense issues were the scary new thing that I was entering.

Several articles published followed. And so I knew that I could do this. And I never developed any resentment at my children for preventing me from following this dream.

I still have this dream. Although blogging is a fatal distraction on this front. We're a nation at war and in many ways I feel it is a duty to blog on these issues. I know that I'm a drop in the bucket and that my commentary is hardly a stand at Thermopylae against the hordes of idiocy. But I do blog in the shade, at least.

But I'm increasingly aware that this is a distraction.

I can think of more leaps. At least one that was very important to me, in fact. But these are some of the major ones. In each of these leaps, I took a risk of failure that would strike at the core of who I believed I was and what I valued in myself. In each one, it would have been easier to stay put or keep doing what I was doing. To stay on the course that was growing comfortable if not loved. And a path that allowed me to safely believe I could do more if only circumstances would allow me.

The psychological attraction of believing you are trapped beneath your potential is seductive, I think.

So keep moving forward. Even if it seems like a failure at the time, you build on the foundation of your life in ways you may not yet appreciate but will pay off later.

I didn't discuss the leap of marriage, and it changed my path immensely. But it paid off ultimately even with divorce thrown in to confuse the positive with that major negative. I can't know what my life would have been on the path I planned. But I know I like my life now. That's enough to banish any thoughts of regret.

As long as you keep trying to move forward, you can make your life work better. Heck, you might even become wealthy. I might yet, even. I feel I have more leaps left in me. But that would be icing on the cake, as far as I'm concerned.

Forgive the navel-gazing nature of this post. But it is a new year when people leap forward to think of new possibilities. I'll get back to bitching about John Kerry any moment now, I'm sure.

So there you go. Make of this what you will. Or not. It's your life. Happy New Year!