fantezie. fantasmă. fantasmagorie. agonia lumi care se întâlnesc fără să se despartă, visul a spart deja granițele cu realitatea, invazia are forma zilei de mâine, Șeherezada stă derutată într-o poveste orientală sucită, distopie, citește în cafea; sfârșitul nu mai e nici măcar previzibil, fericirea se mută la mituri personale
un apus, două apusuri, dor de portocaliul cu subton de roz celest ce-a păzit nașterea unei povești, durerea de sub stern se întoarce spărgând ușa, cu zgomot, se separă de liniștea cu care a plecat. prietenie unilaterală, indivizibilă de ritmul vieții.
o dimineață, două dimineți, ceață. reflexia din oglindă e tot ce mai recunosc. corpul meu singura realitate controlabilă. cum am ajuns să nu mai văd decât dezastru în propria viață?
vina devine materială, un zid de care mă izbesc cu toată ființa. 6 litere și datoria de a rămâne. acum mai mult decât oricând tot ce pot face-i să rămân pe loc chiar și atunci când nimeni altcineva nu mai rămâne mai ales atunci…
fantezia se termină cu mirosul de pâine caldă și cafea. realitatea mușcă din ființa mea, lup tânăr și lacom
nu judec. ai plecat înaintea singurului moment când aș fi avut nevoie să rămâi, azi văd lumea cu proprii ochi și știu că viața mi-a fost miză într-un joc de demult și că într-o bună zi o să mor, ca toate femeile din neamul meu, înecându-mă cu adevărul, captivă-n propriul suflet pe care n-am apucat la timp să-l pun pe mut.
magia mi se adună în vârfurile degetelor, mărgele de abac. în mine e încă viu un miros de tabac genele, pleoapele, gâtul tresar imperceptibil împunse de ac
trăiesc lumea prin ochi. prin buze, prin mâini, prin mișcări. adunarea senzațiilor de proveniență anonimă. strâng povești, poeme și culori într-o vază și le întorc lumii care mi le-a dat cu aceleași mâini ce tremurau când le-am luat
mă pierd ocazional în deșirarea unei narațiuni fără timpuri verbale sau leac. privesc împrejur, mă întorc, mirarea din ochii mei e vecină cu marea, și numai înăuntru-mi văd rădăcina, chemarea. dincolo de nori, sub pământ, renegarea.
umblu pământuri străine în căutarea locului în care să-ngrop nume ce-au format lumi pentru mine, rămășițe de trecut făcut franjuri încă de când era prezent. lipsa obsesiei lasă loc pentru păcate noi păcate noi, păcat la singular, în doi
m-am întors la mine într-o dimineață fără să știu măcar că pierderea de sub stern era a mea de mine, nu o pierdere de tine. așteaptă. n-ai însemnat mereu ce crezi, n-ai fost decât cei doi ochi verzi ai rătăcirii aspre, grosolane azi mă vezi în zare, copila reîntoarsă la ea însăși, victima nesfârșitelor mitologii personale
Failure is a heavy topic. It is hard to think about failure without remembering yours, and it is hard to look at the way others manage their failures without asking yourself how would’ve you done it. And, yet, it is a topic of major importance, its proper management being a never-ending test.
Failing is a part of our lives, even if we are not fond of it. We fail constantly, even if we talk about our personal lives, about our careers, or about our relationship with ourselves. We fail, and this is not bad at all, as failure is such a powerful tool for learning.
Because, yes, failure is, above anything else, a tool we’re handed. It is a mirror showing us what could’ve been done better, or at least in a different way. It brings along different perspectives, others than our common favorites. It helps us grow.
But this only becomes visible after the dramatic phase, after the why me, why again? moment. And, if you happen to be a perfectionist, like, getting through this phase is a challenge in itself, the learning part coming more as an extra task. As much as it is a tool and a way of learning, failure is also a test. The way someone manages their failures speaks volumes about that person. It is a good thing to pay attention to when you meet a new person, their attitude about failure.
Usually, there are three big types of approaches: Why me, I wasn’t worth it anyway, and It’s not the end of the world.
Why me? is the approach where the person, put in front of a failure, tries to find an external source. It is never about them, their failure is the consequence of other people’s actions, and they have nothing to think about. If you ask them what are they thinking they did wrong, will tell you there’s nothing wrong about their way of action, the other people or maybe the destiny didn’t want them to succeed. They were right, and would if they could turn back the time, do things the very same way.
The I wasn’t worth it anyway narrativeis the perfectly opposed approach. It is, just like the previous, strongly connected with one’s self-esteem. The person tried, hoped for success, but deep inside the feeling that they’re not good enough to make it persisted. They take their failure as something personal, that is way more about them- their interpersonal skills, their knowledge, their way of action than it is about others and their perception.
It is not the end of the world is, if you ask me, the only effective approach when it comes to managing failure. You try, you fail, you take some time to analyze and see what could’ve been made differently. Maybe you were not a good enough fit. Or maybe your knowledge of the subject was lacunary. Maybe you just tried at the wrong time, and the right moment for it would’ve been other.
It implies taking everything into consideration and then choosing up wisely. Maybe you will or will not try again, but what you learn from that attempt remains with you, shaping you into a different individual. Being aware of that keeps you committed to learning and without any bitter feelings long-term.
Naturally, the way one will approach a failure has other stuff in the background, besides of their maturity level: how important was for them to make it from the first attempt, how much work they’ve put into it, how many other chances to try again they have and the pressure of their close ones are also factors to consider when we talk about one’s attitude on failure.
My experience with this was, as expected, a tough one. Being a perfectionist with a low self-esteem level, the tendency was to assume that every failure was my fault. Other factors were always secondary and the“what could I have done better” list was a neverending one. Till one day, when I got to understand that, no matter how hard I want it to be that way, truth is that very little of the outcome was under my control. I could only control the way I act and talk, as well as my level of knowledge, but the perception of others about me will never be something I could control, so blaming myself for not being enough won’t lead me anywhere. And this was such a hard pill to swallow for an anxious girl like I am. However, it only made things easier, as it made me come to better terms with my failures.
Linking my self-worth on my success-failure rate was for a long time one of my most toxic behaviors. It made me think that to be worthy of respect, affection, and trust, I have to be successful constantly. But this is not how life works.
You are going to be successful at times and failing at times, but this won’t make you a failure as a person. You can be a good person and still fail at things. This doesn’t mean that your goals are unrealistic, or that you’re a fool for trying to make them happen. It only means that you’re human, and failure is a perfectly human trait. No one has it all together every second of their life. No one said that failure is something to be happy about, or that feeling sad about your failure is not a valid feeling. Yet here’s the catch: being a worthy human being is a constant, and linking it to something as fluctuant as the success will harm you. It is one of the things with the greatest impact on your mental health, as well as one of the biggest fears. Don’t let your failures mess up with your most important resource, you know better.
Failure is far beyond the good and the bad. It is a complex phenomenon, the beginning of a whole journey that has a unique purpose to help you learn about yourself. Looking back, there are moments when I’m happy things didn’t work out my way, as I can now see clearly what a disaster this would have been. But some failures were my fault, and that taught me how to act in future situations like that, which I’m grateful for.
So do yourself a favor, and stop trying to put all your failures in the same box. Keep in mind that you are a person who deserves love, appreciation, and good things, no matter your failures. Your failures don’t make you a bad person, even if the voice inside your head keeps nagging you with this idea. Instead, it makes you an apprentice, someone who has to keep on learning. And when it comes to dealing with life, we’re all apprentices here, so cherish every opportunity you get to discover more.