…because failure is a part of it all. And if failure don’t hurt, then failure don’t work, anymore.
Craftiness only gets you so far though. When I submitted my assignment, I arranged a meeting with the old man. Never mind my intention to highlight my difficulties with dignity and propose withdrawing from the course, I ended up a sobbing heartbroken soul in his office chair. Of course, because of my amazing question-asking-ability, the precious thing had no idea I had been struggling so. I begged him to allow me to drop out despite the pain of only graduating in another six months and my two part-time jobs needing me more. My self-esteem had whittled. Failure leaned its heavy weight on my shoulder: it wasn’t just imminent, it had already arrived. And it promised to be a glorious display of defeat. This time, it wasn’t a case of not working hard. I had neglected other courses to focus my attention on this one, and why? to exploit all the learning opportunities I could. Darn it. It hurt, it ripped, it stabbed and throbbed. No counsellor could soothe it and nobody seemed to understand it.
It was amazing.
I was distraught but ironically felt that life was fuller, as if I had finally jumped aboard the vehicle of the living. The reason it hurt was because I cared. I was invested in, and had sacrificed (along with friends and family – sorry!) to do this course. I had thrown myself into the some bizarre economic world and cared when I was drowning. If failure don’t hurt, then failure don’t work anymore. I had tried to protect myself by mitigating my level of care, and while it reduced the pain, I don’t remember learning anything from my high school experience. Or from the subject matter. What a waste.
* My experience of depression was a gift, and will feature in an entry or two on a more sombre date. Yesterday’s first blog ‘launch’ on Facebook has made me too happy to write about it today.
[side note] My tutor thought my withdrawal from the course was not necessary, not yet. Moments after our meeting, I received an email:
Just marked your assignment. You got 20.
Out of 100? I replied. I was not sure where that 20 percent had come from. I hadn’t understood the question when I submitted the assignment. 20% was more than I was expecting; I guess I had underestimated the marks title and reference pages could give me. Perhaps he had appreciated my syntax?
Out of 40.
The man was craftier than me. There is no way he could have found 50% of value in it.
I didn’t end up withdrawing. The latter assessment was a take-home exam which seemed suspiciously easy and thanks to weighting of the assessments towards the exam, I received a surprised distinction at the end of the course.