As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, I’ve always had a fondness for learning. Throughout my life, Science and Math were my favorite subjects. They were essentially based on memorizing facts, which was easy. Word problems and problem solving questions were the best. In elementary school, junior high, and high school I excelled in nearly area on the standardized tests. In high school, I placed in the top 5% of the country two years in a row on a national standardized math test with only logic tests and word problems. I would go to college and be a doctor or an engineer. I was smart and I was going to be successful. 

I hated English up until my senior year of high school. Grammar was always difficult, I dreaded the weekly spelling tests, and I never considered myself the creative type. The reading was the only part I really liked. I would finish up my high school English and be done with it forever. However, my senior English class wasn’t so bad. I took a combined Advanced Placement and Dual-Enrollment college-level course. It was challenging and it paired the analysis I loved with the medium of text which, up until that point, I thought I despised.

During the same time period – my senior year of high school – I was also taking Advanced Placement Calculus. I’d had straight A’s in Math for as long as I could remember. Math was easy, and when it wasn’t I enjoyed working towards the solution. But Calculus was different. I don’t know why, but it didn’t click. I would read and reread my book, go in to talk to my teacher, and spend hours working on a single problem. But Calculus was just too hard and I ended up dropping the class after the first semester. I was supremely disappointed in myself – all of a sudden I was a failure in my favorite subject and I was giving up on even trying.

“I’ve always been good at Math,” I told myself as I signed up for another Calculus class during my college orientation. Yet, despite the study groups, help from the teacher (an intimidating seven-foot Slovakian who spent class time telling stories), tutoring, and every other resource I could get my hands on, I ended up failing the class. The first class I ever failed.

Even though I already had completed college-level English in high school, my adviser signed me up for English 103 Honors. During the same time I was flailing about aimlessly in my Calculus class, I was excelling in my English class. I resented the fact a bit when I stopped to think about it.

My second semester I regained my footing and moved past my failure. I was even more successful in my English than I had been my first semester and, for the second time in my life, actually enjoyed writing. But I couldn’t let go of the notion that I needed to retake Calculus, I couldn’t let go of the idea that my personal success should be gauged by how well I do in the Maths and Sciences, the “real” subjects.

So I took Calculus for a third time, and failed it for a second. It made more sense being able to understand the teacher, but outside optimization, logic, and word problems, very little clicked with me. Either that or I would feel that I understood the concept, but would be proven otherwise when handed back my tests.

So, maybe Math wasn’t my thing after all. It took me a few years to come to peace with that. And in the meantime, I learned another important lesson. You don’t have to excel in one subject or have a refined set of interests. My favorite classes in college were Anthropology, Organic Chemistry, English, Psychology of Happiness, and Modern Art. Had I limited myself to a narrow set of options, I would never have even experienced some of those subjects. I also would not have realized how much I dislike Philosophy, Microbiology, and Calculus.

The one piece of advice I would give to those in college, and everyone else is: Pay attention to where you invest your free time. Yes, I invested time into studying Math, but that clearly wasn’t helping me. However, I spent my entire Spring Break writing a 20-page paper for my English class and got an “A”. I would spend hours writing papers for my classes, while most of my classmates waited until the night before it was due to begin. And I actually enjoyed writing these papers. Throughout my four years in college, I never received less than an “A” on a paper, yet I didn’t realize or care at the time.

In college, I met an unbelievable number of people who were going to school to be doctors, engineers, or lawyers because it was expected of them. I’ve never had a clue as to what type of career I’d like to pursue, but I’m thankful I never had to deal with the outside pressure from my family or community. Yet, like so much else, I think the strongest pressure comes from within. Often times we’re the ones who set up expectations for ourselves or define what success means.

I failed Calculus not only once, but twice; three times, if you could dropping out of the class because I was failing. I felt like a failure throughout college because I was doing so poorly in an area my teachers and I had always defined as my strong point. I didn’t take into account that I was doing exceedingly well in all of my other classes.

When you focus your attention on failure, it will inevitably become a problem. But there is nothing inherently wrong with doing poorly or exposing your weaknesses. In a sense failure is a blessing because, once you move past the initial misery, it’s a great opportunity to reassess your strengths and interests.

Had I passed Calculus with flying colors the first time, would I be writing this right now? Probably not. I started writing because I felt lost and writing was the one area in which I was continually receiving positive feedback about my work. It was the only means through which I knew I could fruitfully explore my thoughts. Had I not felt like a directionless failure, I would have fallen into line with the other Math and Science kids, contentedly following the path of least resistance. I consider myself an intellectual, so I hate admitting that I’ve failed a class. However, failure has taught me a lot and, looking back, I’m exceedingly grateful for it. Maybe I could be making bank as an engineer or in medical school helping people right now, but I can’t imagine feeling as happy and fulfilled as I do now, writing for free simply because I love it . As much as I “loved” Math, I can’t imagine being eager to do it for free.

So you see, failure isn’t all that bad.