So You Made A Mistake?

The obituary editor of a city newspaper was not one who would admit his mistakes easily. One day, he got a phone call from an irate subscriber who complained that her name just appeared in the obituary column. “Really?” was the calm reply. “Where are you calling from?”

Of course, there is no shame in making mistakes. They are an important and necessary part of learning.

A young man came in for an interview with his manager. “Tell me,” the young man asked her, “how did you become so successful?”

“Two words,” she said. “Right decisions.”

He asked, “How did you make right decisions?”

“One word – experience.”

“And how did you get experience?”

“Two words,” she said. “Wrong decisions.”

In order to profit from our mistakes, we have to get out and make some. And so long as we keep making different ones each time, we’re learning and growing.

Entertainer Conan O’Brien spoke to the Harvard graduating class of 2000 about some wisdom he gleaned in life. He told them that he wished the best for them. But then he said something interesting. He told them that he also wished that they experience plenty of the bad as well as the good. “Fall down,” he said. “Make a mess. Break something occasionally. Know that your mistakes are your own unique way of getting to where you need to be. And remember that the story is never over.”

Are you feeling badly about a mistake you recently made? Then decide what you will do differently next time, make amends if necessary, and move on.

Are you afraid of taking a necessary risk for fear of making a mistake? Remember, even poor choices are opportunities to learn. How else are you going to learn to make better ones?

So make those mistakes. Make them boldly. In the end, they will make you better. And if you make enough can you become the best ever.

-- Steve Goodier

How Much Music Can You Make?

Imagine this. A concert violinist is performing a difficult piece in front of a large audience. Suddenly there is a loud snap that reverberates throughout the auditorium. The audience immediately knows that a string has broken and fully expects the concert to be suspended until another string, or instrument, is brought to the musician.

But instead, the violinist composes herself, closes her eyes and then signals the conductor to begin again. The orchestra resumes where it had left off and now the musician plays the music on the remaining three strings. In her mind she works out new fingering to compensate. A work that few people can play well on a perfect instrument, the violinist with the broken string plays magnificently.

When she finishes, an awesome silence hangs in the room. And then as one, the crowd rises to their feet amidst enthusiastic applause and cheers. The violinist smiles and wipes perspiration from her brow. When silence returns to the great room, she explains why she continued to play in spite of the accident. "You know," she says, still breathless, "sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."

(Though this incident is sometimes purported to have happened to the famous violinist Itzhak Perlman, it cannot be substantiated and is more likely grist in the mill of urban legend. But there is a powerful truth in this story nevertheless.)

We know what the violinist means, don't we? We know about experiencing losses and setbacks. We know what it means to find out how much music we can still make with what we have left.

Maybe you've lived most of your life and you have only a little time remaining. Though most of your life is behind, can you still make music?

Maybe disease or an accident has robbed you of your capacity to work. Though too sick or weak to hold down a job, are there other ways to contribute? Can you still make music?

Perhaps a financial loss has left you impoverished. Without the resources you've enjoyed in the past, can you count up the numerous other resources still available to you? Time? Energy? Skills? Knowledge? Can you still make music?

Or maybe a meaningful relationship has ended and you feel alone in the world. Will you figure out what that loss means in your life, grieve its passing and decide you still have a future? Can you still make music?

There are times when we all experience loss; times when something occurs that changes everything. Like the violinist, will you find the courage to discover just how much music you can still make with what you have left? How much good you can still do? How much joy you can still share?

I'm convinced that the world, more than ever, needs the music only you can make. And if it takes extra courage to keep playing in spite of your loss, many will applaud the effort. And who knows? Others may be inspired to pick up their broken instruments, their broken lives, and begin again.

The all-important question we each must ask is this: Just how much music can I make with what I have left?

– Steve Goodier

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Destined or Determined?

Image courtesy of Scott Liddell

A sky-diving instructor was asked, “How many successful jumps must a student make before he or she can become certified?”

He answered, “All of them!”

Sky diving, however, is the exception. Is your life built on a series of successes? Do you usually attempt something new and immediately succeed, then succeed again and again? Or more likely, do you find that it is the other way around?

Our successes are often built on smaller failures. We fell off the bike a few times before we learned to ride. And we produced a few culinary failures before we baked a successful layered cake or prepared a satisfactory omelet.

Tom Hopkins observes, “The number of times I succeed is in direct proportion to the number of times I can fail and keep on trying.” And Winston Churchill stated, “Success is going from failure to failure without a loss of enthusiasm.” They both agree that discouragement, rather than failure, is the enemy of success. Those who can remain hopeful and focused, though they fail, are those who will eventually succeed.

In all, Emily Dickinson is said to have written nearly eighteen hundred poems. Though fewer than a dozen were published in her lifetime and the first volume of her poetry was not published until four years after her death, Dickinson’s success is attributed to the fact that she did not allow discouragement to keep her from her poetry.

As she wrote so beautifully:

“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.”

Hope … never stops. Where would we be today had Emily Dickinson lost her enthusiasm for writing? Though largely unrecognized, she kept her desire alive and we now remember her as one of the great poets of all time.

It’s good to remember that success may be just beyond the next failure, and you’ll get there, not because you’re destined to, but because you’re determined to.

-- Steve Goodier

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The Dues Paid for a Full Life

I get this story.

A computer support technician worked with a gentleman for about hour before giving up. He filed an incident report. In the space where he was asked to define the situation, he wrote, "The problem resides between the keyboard and the chair."

I get that. Between the keyboard and the chair is where most of my computer problems reside, and probably most of my other problems, too. As much as I may like to blame things that go wrong in my life on other people or on situations out of my control ("I can’t help it..." "It wasn’t my fault..."), I am aware that they are too often a result my own mistakes. And I’ve made plenty of mistakes.

Like an embarrassing goof that occurred a few years ago. Driving home through one of the seedier sides of town, I spotted a young woman hitching a ride. Yes, I believed she needed a ride. No, I am not so naïve these days. So, in a spirit of generosity, I slowed to a stop.

It happened during rush hour heavy traffic. Understand that all of the cars on this congested street came to a stop behind me as I let her in. But I excused the inconvenience with the thought, ‘They can wait a minute. I’m just helping somebody out here.’

Once we started up again I asked, "Where are you going?"

That’s when she looked at me and said, "Do you want a date?

Honest. I didn’t see that one coming. Trying to figure out what was going on here, I responded in my normal eloquent manner, "Huh?"

"Do you want a date?" she asked again. "Do you want to have fun?"

By this time the dimmest of lights switched on in my head. I was finally beginning to see what this was all about. I felt a little foolish thinking she actually wanted a lift. And when I told her no and she said, "Then you better let me out."

We had only traveled about two blocks when I slowed to a stop for a second time. The same cars that had to wait for me before were waiting again, and I realized that I was probably the last person on the street that day to understand what was going on.

Former mayor Filorello LaGuardia of New York City once said, "I don't make many mistakes, but when I do, it's a beaut." I, on the other hand, make plenty of mistakes, and a surprising number of them are beauts. Actually, the incident with the hitch-hiker scores fairly low on my list of goof-ups.

Unless permanent damage is done, I don’t mind a certain number of blunders, slip-ups, errors, missteps and the like. Actually, I think mistakes are under-rated as opportunities to learn. Actress Sophia Loren's philosophy works well for me: "Mistakes," she says, "are part of the dues one pays for a full life." And I suspect, the fuller the life, the more dues were paid.

So I'll take the risks, try new things and make more mistakes if it means a fuller and richer life. After all, the greater mistake could be to never risk at all.

-- Steve Goodier


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Turn ... and Come Round Right

Not long ago a commercial airliner, whose pilot was new to New York, landed at JFK Airport. He steered the jet onto a taxiway and stopped. Then slowly he began turning. First he nosed the aircraft to the right. Then to the left. Then he turned the plane completely around.

Finally, over the public-address system, a confused voice asked, "Does anyone know where Gate 25 is?" He thought that by turning he'd see where to go and end up where he ought to be.

Deciding to turn, or change direction, is a wonderful metaphor. It is something we often have to do if we are to live fully and live well. For each of us knows what it is to head the wrong direction in life; and we also know how relieved we feel to turn around again.

Do you remember the old Shaker hymn, written by Joseph Brackett, Jr. over 150 years ago?

'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight,
'Til by turning, turning we come round right.

It's amazing how many times I turn in a day. I turn up to things I want to attend and turn down others. I turn in at the end of the day and turn over all night long. And when things are not right, I can always turn them around.

Actually, turning is one of the most hopeful words I know.

When I'm not right, I can turn in a new direction. By turning, I do something about the course I've taken. I may not be able to change what I've already done; and I may not be able to fully escape those unpleasant consequences of past choices. But I need not continue in the same, destructive path. I can turn. I can find my way again.

Turning around is allowed in this life. In fact, it's necessary. Especially after mistakes and failures. And that's like hope for me. Like the song says, "'Tis the gift to come down where you ought to be." But when we don't find ourselves where we ought to be, "by turning, turning we come round right."

-- Steve Goodier

Hard Won Wisdom

Theodore Levitt, of the Harvard Business School, said, "Experience comes from what we have done. Wisdom comes from what we have done badly." Theodore Levitt sounds like a wise person. I wonder what he’s done badly.

Based on his reasoning, I must be bursting with wisdom. Over the years, I’ve racked up an impressive number of things that haven’t gone too well.

But put another way, wisdom is what the school of life gives us with every poor report card. Wisdom is hard won, and it is often birthed in the ashes of failure.

One man tells of meeting one of the truly “wise” ones among us on a flight to Florida. He was preparing his notes for a parent-education seminar he was to conduct there. Bessie, an older woman sitting next to him, explained that she was returning home after having spent two weeks visiting her six children, 18 grandchildren and ten great-grandchildren.

Then she asked him what he did for a living. The man explained that he was a psychologist specializing in children. He dreaded telling her this, as he fully expected her to probe him for free professional advice during the three-hour flight. But not this wise woman. Instead, she sat back, picked up a magazine and said, “So doctor, if there’s anything you want to know, just ask me.”

Bessie’s years of parenting and grand-parenting gave her what no professional degrees could – it gave her hard won wisdom. Much of what she knew about children could only be learned through experience, including experiences of failure.

I really don’t worry about the things I’ve done badly. If I paid attention to what went wrong and why, then even my most spectacular failures gave something priceless back – they taught valuable lessons. Sometimes wisdom can’t be gotten any other way.

-- Steve Goodier


Image by flickr.com/Edith Maracle

Getting It Right

A young boy was sitting in the back seat of the car eating an apple. He poked his father in the front seat and asked, "Daddy, why does my apple turn brown?" His father answered, "When the skin is removed from the apple, air reaches the flesh of the apple and causes oxidation. This changes the apple’s molecular structure and results in a brownish color.

After a long pause, a small voice from the back seat asked, "Daddy, are you talking to me?"

I know how that boy feels. Sometimes I want answers to some of those confusing problems we all run up against. I want someone to explain how to get through difficult times or tell me what to do in a tough situation. I just want to get it right.

But I think I identify a bit more with the father whose daughter asked him if he would help her with some homework.

"I’m sorry," he replied. "It wouldn’t be right."

"Well," she said, "at least you could try."

Problem is, I don't always have the answers I need. And nobody else seems too, either. So I blunder ahead worried that I'll never get it "right."

But I'm beginning to learn something about not knowing what to do and making a poor choice. That is -- I don’t HAVE TO always get it right. I don’t have to always know what to do all the time. All I really need to do is try my best, learn from the mistakes and go on.

The affable Dr. Leo Buscaglia once said, "No one gets out of this world alive, so the time to live, learn, care, share, celebrate, and love is now." Which is pretty hard to do when you’re waiting for the answers first.

So you got it wrong. You made a mistake. So what? Forgive yourself and try again. Even if you don’t get out of this world alive, you can get plenty of life out of this world if you're not too worried about always getting it right.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: freeimages.com/Fran Gambín

Making Choices

Joseph Henry was an American scientist who served as the first Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution. He used to tell a rather strange story about his childhood.

His grandmother, who raised him, once paid a cobbler to make him a pair of shoes. The man measured his feet and told Joseph that he could choose between two styles: a rounded toe or a square toe. Little Joseph couldn't decide. It seemed to be such a huge decision; after all, they would become his only pair of shoes for a long time. The cobbler allowed him to take a couple of days to make up his mind.

Day after day, Joseph went into the shop, sometimes three or four times a day! Each time he looked over the cobbler's shoes and tried to decide. The round-toed shoes were more practical, but the square toes looked more fashionable. He continued to procrastinate. He wanted to make up his mind, but he just couldn't decide!

Finally, one day he went into the shop and the cobbler handed him a parcel wrapped in brown paper. His new shoes! He raced home. He tore off the wrapping and found a beautiful pair of leather shoes - one with a rounded toe and the other with a square toe.

I can learn a lesson here...a lesson about decisions: if I don't make decisions myself, others will probably make them for me.

And if I choose poorly from time to time, that's okay, too. At least I won't have to wear shoes that don't match. Besides, I'll probably do better the next time.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: freeimages.com/abcdz2000