Mastering Failure: Failing Mindfully with Full Presence

At the age of 23, when I was just embarking on my career in journalism, I committed a grave error. During my coverage of a prominent trial in San Jose, California, I inaccurately reported that a woman, who had not been accused of any wrongdoing, had conspired to commit murder.The individual I had un

At the age of 23, when I was just embarking on my career in journalism, I committed a grave error. During my coverage of a prominent trial in San Jose, California, I inaccurately reported that a woman, who had not been accused of any wrongdoing, had conspired to commit murder.

The individual I had unjustly implicated filed a libel lawsuit against me and my newspaper, seeking damages of $11 million. A victory for her would have ended my professional aspirations and inflicted severe financial harm on my employer.

Regrettably, this incident was not my initial blunder in reporting.

In the weeks leading up to this, I had accumulated a string of minor inaccuracies, primarily involving incorrect names and dates. On one occasion, I misquoted a rancher, attributing to him a statement that he needed to leave to 'shoot a horse,' when in reality he had said 'shoe' a horse. The following morning, after the article was published, he contacted the news desk demanding a correction, explaining that his sister, employed by the Humane Society, had reprimanded him harshly.

As these slip-ups continued to mount, I became increasingly anxious that my tenure at the newspaper was coming to an end. Yet, I struggled to pause and meticulously verify my work. Rather, I tended to deflect responsibility onto others whenever I could. I claimed the rancher had spoken unclearly. The copy editor had failed in his duties. My superiors were overburdening me, leaving me fatigued.

By the time the libel case arose, I had exhausted all my justifications. Surprisingly, rather than dismissing me outright, the newspaper's managing editor—a stern, no-nonsense figure reminiscent of a classic newsroom boss who had previously been one of my strongest supporters—opted to suspend me for three days, extending me a final opportunity. He also directly recommended that I seek professional counseling during this period.

'You are undermining your own success,' he cautioned.

I had no alternative but to transform myself: to cease making excuses and commit to the challenging effort required to evolve into the individual I had always aspired to become.

Following his guidance, I immediately located a psychiatrist and scheduled my initial session before even departing the newsroom that day. The prospect of forfeiting a position that defined my entire sense of self was unbearable, and in that pivotal moment, I realized transformation was essential: abandoning excuses and undertaking the rigorous journey to become more skilled and reliable. Essentially, I needed to embrace greater personal responsibility. The core issue remained my profound doubt in my capacity to enact such profound change.

Slow Down to Speed Up

This occurred—remarkably, time passes so swiftly!—in 1981. The concept of mindfulness had not yet entered mainstream awareness. However, Freudian psychoanalysis, complete with the traditional couch, remained accessible for those with comprehensive insurance coverage or the means to cover the costs. My psychiatrist was still in his residency, supervised by a senior colleague, and he provided a substantial discount that rendered the sessions feasible for me.

His guiding principle was, 'Distrust your impulse toward haste,' a phrase that proved to be the most valuable counsel I have ever received, yet also the most challenging to implement. Repeatedly, he encouraged me to remain still and fully engage with my emotions, instead of yielding to my strong desire to flee from them through any available means. It is mortifying to reflect on the countless hours I squandered in futile arguments with him, questioning the necessity of therapy altogether, diverting the conversation, immersing myself excessively in work, or citing fatigue as a pretext to skip sessions.

Eventually, a breakthrough occurred, enabling me to confront the intense shame stemming from my repeated failures—and, on a deeper level, from my conviction that I was fated to continue erring. Only then did I recognize how profoundly this shame had shaped my actions, especially my habit of attributing faults to external factors or individuals. My editor had been correct; I was indeed self-sabotaging, driven by motivations that would require years to fully unpack—specifically, four years.

Many years later, while raising my children, a perceptive swim instructor evaluated my oldest son's rapid yet inefficient freestyle stroke and advised him, 'You must slow down to speed up.' Without delving into the painful specifics, my own hurried pace, equally inept, traced back to early life experiences that had trained me to disconnect under stress. Persisting with therapy enabled me first to decelerate sufficiently to regain mental control and cease those errors, then to methodically explore their origins. Over time, my psychiatrist also guided me away from adopting a victim mentality during difficulties. He emphasized acting with integrity, starting with enforcing charges for no-shows unless justified.

In the end, this discipline—though not yet termed a 'practice' in popular parlance—of noticing my urge to evade emotions and deliberately returning to them fostered not only greater precision in my journalism but also enhanced listening skills. These improvements, in turn, elevated my roles as a friend, spouse, daughter, and parent beyond what I could have otherwise achieved. I do not claim that four years of therapy represents the ideal remedy for workplace mistakes universally. For me, however, this deliberate path to accountability was life-preserving.

Working with the Shame Response

Upon pausing to observe, you might be astonished by how ubiquitous, diverse, and profound human errors truly are. From everyday mishaps like a minor traffic collision en route to the office to far graver catastrophes such as aviation disasters, surgical mishandlings, and tragic instances of parents forgetting infants in scorching vehicles, we inexplicably and routinely undermine our own well-being.

Once you stop to notice, you may be surprised by the prevalence, variety, and depth of human error.

My personal encounter with a relatively minor yet career-threatening mistake in my youth ignited a lasting fascination with human fallibility, particularly the processes by which individuals surmount the shame of baffling errors. Mitch Abblett, a clinical psychologist and past executive director of the Institute for Meditation and Psychotherapy, a nonprofit organization, harbors a parallel passion, authoring compelling insights into how shame immobilizes us.

'The shame response originates from an ancient, primal region of the brain,' he explained during a recent conversation. 'From a psychological viewpoint rooted in evolutionary biology, tens of thousands of years ago, shame was tied directly to survival, evoking fears of social ostracism and consequent death.'

Abblett asserts that mindfulness practices assist individuals in transcending seemingly unbearable shame by enduring the bodily sensations it provokes, along with the 'indignant arrogance' that frequently tags along, ultimately reaching regret—a feeling that creates space for sounder decisions and authentic accountability. He cited the 2007 documentary The Dhamma Brothers, which chronicled four convicted murderers participating in a 10-day meditation retreat within an Alabama correctional facility. The inmates described the initial stillness with awareness of their crimes and victims' sufferings as excruciating. Yet, perseverance brought profound liberation.

Taking Accountability for Failure

It proves enlightening to juxtapose the Dhamma Brothers' journey with the contemporary push to normalize failure rapidly. Phrases like 'Fail fast, fail often!' and 'Move fast and break things!' embody the upbeat mantras of Silicon Valley, where approximately 75 percent of startups ultimately collapse. The TED Talks repository—often seen as the Valley's inspirational homilies—features over a dozen addresses on failure, numerous highlighting its 'unexpected' advantages. Astro Teller's tribute to 'celebrating failure,' delivered as the 'Captain of Moonshots' at Google's innovative lab X, has garnered more than 2.6 million views.

In 2009, this mindset fueled the rise of 'Fuckup Nights,' events where entrepreneurs publicly recount their commercial flops. Mexican entrepreneur Leticia Gasca launched the initiative following the failure of her startup, a charitable venture aiding Native women in marketing their crafts. 'Fuckup Nights' have since proliferated to over 250 cities across 80 nations. Gasca's group additionally provides workshops for companies, fostering environments that honor experimentation over penalizing flops, per their site. Through narratives and interactive discussions, these sessions seek to dissolve shame, cultivating accountability and self-reliance. Around the same era, FailCon emerged—a full-day gathering founded by Cassandra Phillips, a software designer from Palo Alto—likewise achieving international reach.

My journalistic missteps differed categorically from Silicon Valley's strategic and decisional pitfalls. Nonetheless, both varieties share critical traits: the capacity to injure others—for instance, through job losses from bankruptcies—and the imperative for somebody to assume ownership and implement reforms. In essence, both necessitate accountability. This may demand a more deliberate, mindful framework than mere failure anecdotes.

Sam Silverstein concurs. A former manufacturing entrepreneur and prolific author on accountability, Silverstein underscores that it never materializes solo. 'It always involves accountability toward others,' he noted. 'True accountability means honoring commitments to people. We bear responsibility for tasks, but accountability pertains to relationships.'

Reflecting on my managing editor's firm intervention and my drive to restore his faith in me, the dynamic rang true. Likewise, the rapport I forged with my psychiatrist, who methodically earned my confidence over extended periods, aligned with this. Accountability thrives in robust bonds, nurtured through sustained temporal commitment. Nevertheless, individual diligence remains indispensable.

Recounting my pre-mindfulness therapy labors, it seemed he had fortified my resilience against shame's recurrence. Upon concluding our sessions, maintaining that strength fell to me, via candid self-examination and nurturing ongoing connections—professional and personal—that reinforced accountability.

Failing With Presence Is Slow, Daily Work

This gradual accountability regimen has enriched my marital bond and close friendships, but its most profound impact appears in parent-child dynamics. I inherited from my mother the outdated ideal of maternal perfection—elders as infallible authorities immune to question. Contemporary perspectives have evolved; while parents must establish boundaries, exemplifying humility and admitting faults proves vital. Thus, despite my knee-jerk reactions to oversights—like neglecting to collect my children from Hebrew School, stranding them for an additional 20 minutes—such as denial or rationalization, I paused, accepted responsibility, and offered a genuine, measured apology for my lapse. Parenthood uniquely abounds in humbling moments, provided we embrace them without defensiveness or victimhood.

Such accountability emerges gradually, rooted in profound ties. By contrast, Fuckup Nights promise swift relief: a humorous, spotlight confession suffices. Yet, deeper consideration reveals them as evasion tactics redux.

Indeed, Silicon Valley's hasty failure paradigm faces critique from unexpected quarters. 'Whenever Silicon Valley figures or students boast about rapid, frequent failures as trivial, I wince,' Gasca remarked in her recent TED presentation. She now champions 'mindful failing'—conscious reckoning with impacts, extracted wisdom, and the duty to disseminate those insights. Put differently: failing with presence.

Echoing this, Phillips, FailCon's originator, recently discontinued the venture from exasperation. 'I grew weary of superficial discussions lacking real lessons, follow-through, or ownership of events,' she emailed. True progress requires consistent, incremental dialogues over time—a commitment she then eschewed. Her insight resonated: authentic accountability hinges on trust-based relationships, incrementally built, alongside habitual deep self-reflection.

Regardless of perspective, this process unfolds unhurriedly, as a persistent daily endeavor.