On Risking Failure

and also a weird party idea

Mar 07, 2024

Like most things in my life, it began with a joke and a prayer.

The joke was about Leap Day Parties, which I mentioned in this post. As Leap Day neared, I entertained myself by imagining everyone planning elaborate celebrations to memorialize the weird occasion. If there is anything I love, it is an overblown ceremony for a minor holiday.

One of the ideas involved making everyone pick one brave thing to do, so I took to Instagram to ask my good people what “leap” they were taking. This was par for the course, as my friends are used to non-sensical polls, and good sports about answering questions like, “Would you rather have a groundhog or a valentine?” People played along with my leap question, mostly with jokes.

Later that day, I saw this prayer from

Scott Erickson

and Justin McRoberts:

“May I be too engaged risking my own failures to have time to criticize the failures of others.”

from this book

Although I’ve loved this image for years, something about the word failure caught my attention this time. It’s not our favorite concept here in ol’ America, especially when thinking about ourselves failing. What we do love is a criticizing fest. One glance at the comment section of any social media post illuminates our culture of couchside critics, and how much fear and anger have taken over as we sit in our houses and write mean things to strangers on the Internet.

(A small note—there is a time and a place for blowing the whistle and fighting against injustice, and that is a different situation, one that often includes great risk.)

It made me wonder how to live a life more occupied by risks rather than obsessions about what everyone else is doing.

I took to the Gram once again, asking:

“What failure are you risking right now?

I wasn’t expecting anyone to take me seriously.

Answers started rolling in:

“I’m going to write a screenplay and let people read it.”
“Finally applying to midwifery school.”
“Adopting…as a single mom.”
“I’m slowing down and picking up a paintbrush to process my burnout.”
"Moving my family to the other side of the world.”
“Stepping down and away.”
“Starting a sewing class for people.”
“Dealing with my issues and seeing a therapist.”
“Getting a logo for my small business.”
“After becoming a widow in my early twenties, I’m getting married again.”

I found myself crying. The answers were beautiful, and dare I say tender, not my normal experience in this weird electronic space. I felt honored to be the recipient of these courageous words.

As I was processing the answers, a party idea popped into my brain. Yes, most situations in my life involve a party idea. Behold, the Risky Business Dinner Party. My initial brainstorm: to attend, you must wear an outfit you love but never have the guts to wear, and make a recipe you’ve never tried. Can’t you hear everyone apologizing as people sampled the dishes? Maybe that would be a rule—no apologizing for the night.

At dinner, there would be candles lit, wine poured, and a simple question for each person to answer: What failure are you risking right now?

What would I say when it came to me?

Let’s see. “Why do I come up with these dumb ideas? I hate answering my own questions. Okay, okay. Fine, people. It’s been a risky few years for a lot of reasons, one being that I’ve stepped deeper into my creativity. I don’t know if you know, but I’m working on a book that is a decade in the making. A decade! Ridiculous. I can’t shake the pesky bugger. Whenever I try to ignore it, it comes back, annoying me and asking to be made. Come to think of it, the book is a lot about risk and failure, about life not turning out like I expected. Let me tell you, it’s turning out way more honest than I imagined. If you had shown me the current manuscript when I started, I would have screamed in terror or thrown up on you.”

Woo. At this point, I’m wiping tears and asking for more wine.

“Why does it feel so risky?” someone asks.

“I’m trying traditional publishing, and I’m not sure I’m going to get a contract. It feels embarrassing to let you know, because what if I get rejected? I could tell you a million possibilities of why it might not work, all the difficulties of the publishing industry right now, and why I shouldn’t try. It feels weirdly vulnerable to lay down the cynicism and give it a go knowing all of that. It would be a lot more comfortable to give it a half-hearted attempt, make a few jokes, and brush it under the rug. But to acknowledge that I want something and go all in? That feels, well…tender. I think I forgot how much hope hurts.”

It’s quiet now.

“However. However. I can’t deny I’m less depressed and less bored when I am working on it. Anxious, sure, but not bored. The funny thing is, I don’t see myself as a risk-taker. I’m not comfortable with it—my family still laughs about my mountain biking meltdown in high school. But if I look back at my life, I see one risk after another. There’s a good amount of failure—jobs that didn’t work out, men who didn’t love me back, that time I didn’t make show choir and thought the world was going to end. Some brutal times for sure.”

I take a deep breath and notice the kind eyes around the table urging me on.

“But isn’t everything good—loving or caring about anyone or anything—risky? Isn’t the death rate still 100%? If we are going to be on this strange planet, isn’t it better that we show up for it? Really show up for it, even for the parts where we don’t know the ending? I mean, isn’t that the adventure, the adventure of…”

“Being human?” they offer.

I smile. Maybe so, my friends.

Maybe so.

What about you? What would you say if you were at the table?

Maybe it’s a tiny risk, or the risk of having a quieter, smaller life. It doesn’t need to be dramatic or reckless. What’s the next scary thing? What dream is nudging you awake?

I’d love to hear your answers, and also what you’d wear to a Risky Business Dinner Party. We can’t take this too seriously, after all.

Adventures in Being Human by Jackie Knapp

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