Tag: failure

• January 12, 2020

  The Birthday Resolutions Take Flight

  

  Earlier this week, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I was flipping through a stack of old National Geographic magazines, looking for something to symbolize my goals for the new year. A friend was hosting a vision board party at a bar in Seattle’s Queen Anne neighborhood. Now, I’m not entirely sure I understand what a vision board is, so I’m sure I was doing it wrong, but as a former elementary school student, I felt pretty confident when I saw the magazines, scissors and glue sticks spread out on the table.

  I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just words and images that inspired me. I slowly amassed an admirably random pile of clippings. Grabbing a poster board and a glue stick, I realized there was an unintentional, perhaps subconscious, theme in the images I’d chosen. From an advertisement, I’d lifted a man in a jet pack. An article on the redwoods yielded two scientists scaling a monolithic tree too tall to fit on the page. A feature on birds of prey offered up the image of a screaming hawk, its tawny wings spread wide.

  Liftoff.

  Reaching new heights.

  Flight.

  For most, if not all, of human history, we’ve yearned to emulate birds and soar among the clouds. However, despite our lofty aspirations, but it wasn’t until one hundred years ago that the Wright Brothers built a flying machine that could actually sustain flight. Reaching a difficult goal takes determination, repeated failure, and time. Orville and Wilbur Wright could never have achieved the world’s first powered flight without their fair share of crash landings. I think life is a lot like that.

  Which brings me to my yearly tradition of making birthday resolutions instead of new year’s resolutions. No, I’m not getting my pilot’s license or going skydiving. Last year, I was not able to realize most of my resolutions. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but life took a couple of unexpected turns, as life has a tendency to do. As I set out on this new year, this new decade, and my thirtieth year of life, I’m aware that failure is the best teacher. I’ve learned a lot from what I tried and was unable to accomplish last year, and I have better ideas for how to improve my process in 2020.

  This year, for my birthday resolutions, I have my sights set on taking flight — metaphorically, of course — while also taking to heart the lessons of failure. So, without further ado, here’s what I have my sights set on this year:

  1. Pursue a Healthy Balance

  Last year, I set myself a challenge of running a 5K. It didn’t happen. This year, I’m still focused on taking better care of myself, but I’m not limiting myself to running. I want to go for long walks, hike through the woods, kayak around Puget Sound, break a sweat working on our ongoing remodel and exercise on a regular schedule. If I do some running along the way, that would be excellent. Overall, though, I’m more interested in striking a healthier balance in my life — more physical activity, less laying on the couch — in whatever way works for me.

  2. Write and Publish

  Three years ago, I declared I would complete a draft of a novel by the time I turned thirty. Well, I’m thirty now and the novel isn’t done; however, I am halfway through and the story is starting to take wing. I didn’t make my arbitrary deadline, but that’s okay. I’m not giving up and will continue to chip away at my manuscript until it’s ready for its debut.

  In addition to my novel, I have an itch to write more short fiction, which has taken a back seat recently. I love short stories and flash fiction and I have several ideas burning a hole in my notebook that I can’t wait to get to work on.

  Finally, I’m refocusing on getting more of my work published in 2020. I have an opportunity in the next couple of months to submit to a local publication I really admire, and I hope it’s the start of getting more of my words into print (or pixels) for the world to see.

  3. Indulge My Curiosity

  Last fall, I embarked on a journey I could not have foreseen when I started an online program to earn a certificate in strategic communication and public relations. Going back to school, even in an incredibly limited fashion, reminded me that I don’t miss homework, but I do enjoy learning. The program is short (I’ll be finished in March), but I plan to continue stretching my brain, seeking out books, articles, podcasts, and documentaries to help me widen my worldview and challenge my preconceived ideas. The world is huge and complex and there is so much to know. As I enter my third decade, it’s obvious to me that I’m just scratching the surface.

  Will I spread my wings and take flight this year? Only time will tell, and I’ll be sure to share highlights here on the blog. Thanks for reading!

  — 30 —

  Jonny Eberle is a writer, storyteller, and hawk fledgling nesting in Tacoma, WA. You can follow him on Twitter and join the mailing list to get exclusive content delivered straight to your inbox each month.
• April 16, 2018

  An American Failure: Confronting Urban Homelessness

  

  Last week, while attending a conference in Nashville, Tennessee, I had a chance to walk around the downtown area. Traveling alone has always been something I’ve enjoyed. I can give myself permission to wander without any destination in mind — it’s a great way to get immersed in a new city. Without anyone else to distract my attention, I was also freed up to observe the details I might otherwise gloss over.

  Nashville is a beautiful city with amazing music on display seemingly everywhere, a thriving food scene and fascinating history. But like so many urban cores in America, it also has something else — a homelessness problem. In the span of four blocks, I passed two people panhandling, one person sleeping on the steps of a church (appropriately named St. Mary of the Seven Sorrows), and one person loudly talking to himself.

  It was overwhelming. My first instinct was to ignore it, as most of us do, as I typically do on any given day. But then I changed my mind. I decided that instead of pretending that a homeless person wasn’t there, that I was going to notice them. I was going to make eye contact and acknowledge their existence.

  That night, on my way to an event after the conference, I heard someone say, “Please, sir, will you stop a moment?” I stopped. A woman was sitting in the doorway of a closed office building. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Please,” she said. “I am thirty-eight dollars away from making rent this month. I have three kids and five grandbabies at home. Can you spare anything?”

  I asked what her name was. It was Antoinette. She told me that she was selling newspapers to raise money — one dollar per copy. I told her that I would be happy to buy one from her. I gave her a dollar and let her know that I hoped her luck turned around. She thanked me and I continued on my way.

  The newspaper was a short tabloid filled with short articles by homeless people in Nashville, telling their stories. Side note: For my readers in the Tacoma area, please check out One Person’s Trash, a similar publication that is written by people experiencing homelessness and sold around the city. It’s an amazing concept that helps a lot of people. Please support them when you can.

  Today, I find myself thinking about Antoinette and wondering if she was able to get enough money to pay her rent or if she and her family were going to end up on the street. And I’m thinking about how many of us — myself included — blissfully ignore the tragedies playing out on our streets every day and every night.

  Maybe she was putting on act. I have no idea. We tell ourselves that people begging on the street are scamming us; it makes it easier to pass by without engaging them because we believe that we’re wise to the scheme. But what worries me is the possibility that some percentage (and I suspect it’s high, though I have no data to support it) of the people asking us for money really are at the lowest point in their life and have no other choice. That’s been eating at me all week.

  It easy for those of us with the luxury of a roof over our heads and enough money in the bank to cover our basic needs to pretend that there isn’t a problem, but there is. Our cities are blighted. Poverty is all around us, but it appears to be most concentrated in our urban cores. This will only get worse as we react to suburbanization and downtown areas are subject to the forces of gentrification (and the increased cost of living that comes with it).

  Giving a dollar to every person you see on the street will not solve this epidemic. Corralling the homeless into a tent city or another central space away from view will not solve this epidemic.

  As a society, we have failed. The problem isn’t confined to Nashville. In every city in America, people are sleeping in doorways tonight. That should not be normal. We have failed to provide a safety net for our neighbors when they hit hard times. We have failed to prioritize affordable housing, accessible physical and mental healthcare, job placement and training, livable wages, good public education, veteran support, and strong communities that don’t let their residents fall through the cracks.

  We are all at fault and it will take a concerted effort by all of us to create solutions to this vast array of problems. We are all one stroke of bad luck from finding ourselves without a job, without enough money to pay our bills, without a safe place to sleep. We owe it to each other to do better.

  — 30 —

  Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA. Follow him on Twitter and subscribe to his monthly newsletter for exclusive content and recommended reads.
• October 27, 2016

  A Writer and a Fraud

  

  This month, I put myself on the line. I dusted off the play that I wrote two years ago and started sending it to theatres and new play festivals around the country. Some of these programs are known for discovering brilliant playwrights that go on to fame, fortune, and accolades. And each time I hit send on a submission, I felt a little pang. Way back in the dark recesses of my soul, a little voice said, “They’re going to know you’re a fraud, you know.”

  I’m told that this is a common fear. It even has a fancy name coined by a pair of psychologists in the late-70s: Imposter Syndrome. It is especially common among high achievers — celebrities, athletes, CEOs, and writers at the top of their games. Even the great poet Maya Angelou once admitted, “I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody, and they’re going to find me out.’”

  Still, knowing that I’m in good company doesn’t make the feeling go away. In my cover letters that accompany my play, I explain my background and achievements as a short story writer and playwright, but what if my publications are just dumb luck?

  I grew up in the generation drowning in praise. A played several years of soccer as a kid and came home at the end of each season with progressively larger trophies. For years, those trophies played into a mistaken belief that I was actually good at soccer. It didn’t dawn on me until high school that they were participation trophies. So, you can’t blame me for being skeptical of my prowess as a writer. If I was a charlatan, would I realize it?

  And yet, that isn’t what worries me the most. If I can attribute my successes on the Imposter Syndrome, what’s stopping me from blaming it for my failures? What if someday I get a rejection and chalk it up to not being a real writer instead of learning from it and going back to rewrites?

  So, I’m training myself to believe that I am the real deal in victory and defeat. If a story gets published, it’s because I worked hard and made it the best I could. If I get rejected, it isn’t for lack of talent. And when I send a play out into the big, cold world of modern American drama, I’m still working on having the confidence to claim that I am the genuine article.

  — 30 —

  Jonny Eberle lives and writes in the City of Destiny. You can find him on Twitter or join the mailing list.
• February 20, 2013

  Brushstrokes

  

  

  Before last week, the last time I attempted to paint was more than ten years ago. I was a lonely middle schooler who refused haircuts and I thought I was an artist. I dabbled in words, graphite, clay and paint in a desperate attempt to express myself. It was only after a few ruined canvases (and one bookcase) that I realized I was a writer, not a painter.

  Some people are visual artists. They can create beauty from physical objects; with their bare hands. They can draw or sculpt or paint. It’s an amazing thing to watch. But I am not one of them. I craft words and spin stories.

  Then, ten years after throwing out my brushes, I found myself involved in a church project to paint pieces to hang in the local men’s homeless shelter. And so, for the first time in years, I put a brush to canvas. I painted for two days in contemplative silence. It was peaceful and centering. The end result is no masterpiece, but I like it and I can’t help but think that I’d like to try again.

  So often, we get discouraged by our early failures. Maybe if we stuck with it when others might quit, we’d discover talents we never knew we had. Pick up a brush or a pencil and give it a shot — you might just surprise yourself.

  — 30 —

  I’m a writer, photographer and connoisseur of art and pizza. I paint word pictures on Twitter, where you can call me @jonnyeberle. Thanks for reading!

  Related Posts:
  Flash Fiction: Future Unwritten
  A Tale of Two Parking Tickets
  A Writer’s Identity
• January 9, 2013

  The Best Birthday Resolutions Ever

  

  The funny thing about being alive is that your birthdays keep adding up. Today, I’ve been breathing on this planet for 23 years (if I were a dog, I’d be 105). It’s been five years since I became old enough to vote and two since I could legally purchase alcohol. There’s no real milestone for 23, but I still think it’s an occasion to stop and reflect on my life. Where most people make New Year’s resolutions, I make birthday resolutions. As I begin my next turn around the Sun, here’s what I hope to accomplish in the year 2013.

  1) Never Stop Learning

  Last year, I graduated from college. Now, I still don’t know if I want to go back to school. I’ve enjoyed the freedom of the post-grad life. But regardless of whether or not I return to the Ivory Tower, I still crave the dizziness of learning. I don’t want to shut my brain off. I want to learn more about the world. This year, I want to read books that challenge me and talk to people who force me to question my assumptions.

  2) See the World

  As long as I can remember, I have loved to travel (except when I get carsick). I like going new places, experiencing cultures, trying new foods and getting completely lost. Last year, I couldn’t travel very much because of school, but now I’m ready to pack my bags. In my life, I hope to stand on every continent. Why not start now?

  But aside from short excursions from home, a bigger adventure is brewing. I’ve lived in Flagstaff for all of my adolescent and adult life and with each passing year, I find there are fewer things holding me here. My family no longer lives on the mountain and my friends are slowly drifting away. I love Flagstaff, but 2013 may be the year I try something new.

  3) Embrace Failure

  This was the first year that I tried to sell a story for publication…and it didn’t happen. Failure is a part of life and for someone who always excelled academically, it can be difficult to accept. And sometimes, when failure seems to be a real possibility, I prefer not to try at all. I’m a lot less cautious than I used to be and want to continue risking failure. A healthy fear of the unknown can be good, but I don’t want it to hold me back.

  As I enter this next year of my life, I’m ready to leap without taking too long to look at where I’ll land. I may fall flat on my face, but that’s a risk I have to take.

  — 30 —

  Life makes for great tweeting. If you liked this blog, please leave me a comment and follow me on Twitter to see if I can keep my resolutions: @jonnyeberle.

  Bonus post: Still a Work in Progress (my resolutions for 2012)
• October 9, 2012

  Failing With Style

  

  I’m not used to failing. I grew up in the self-esteem generation, complete with participation trophies and points for effort. For much of my life, I found that I was successful at most things I devoted my time to. Now, I think I’m a pretty good writer, so it’s come as a surprise at how difficult it is to be successful in this field.

  Rejections are part of the business. If you’re serious about being a writer, you’re going to get stacks of them. It can come as a shock for those of us who always garnered praise for our mastery of the word. But the real world is full of people like that; everyone’s got a short story or a novel to shop around. They can’t all make it big. The myth of the writer being “discovered” and rocketed to fame has poisoned us and made the reality hard to accept. That reality is that even good writers, even excellent writers, struggle to get published.

  Being a writer means being unread and unappreciated and it means clawing your way to the top. It means writing late at night after a long shift at the job that pays for your writing habit and being told “no” over and over. The years are littered with rejections and dreams deferred. I suspect a lot of very talented people give up. The pages disappear into a desk drawer and they move on.

  But some of us are crazy enough to stick it out. We hang that rejection up where we can see it because it’s a challenge — it dares us to persevere. Somehow, we get the idea that this is part of the lifestyle we’ve chosen. This is how we pay our dues.

  Someday, I hope to see my name in print. Not because I got lucky or because I was “discovered,” but because I worked hard to get there and saw every rejection as an opportunity to improve my craft.

  — 30 —

  I’m a writer. And writers write. Often, it’s hard to get writer’s to shut up. So, someone came up with the idea of a microblogging service that lets writers make their unending stream of consciousness available to the masses. It’s called Twitter and you should totally follow me: @jonnyeberle.
• January 26, 2012

  Successful Failures

  

  This morning, I went downstairs to the kitchen for a bowl of yogurt and granola. I dashed down the stairs and threw open the fridge. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but everything in my refrigerator frozen solid. I had a few choice words for the infernal device and had to settle for a handful of dates as I ran out the door.

  Sometimes, life just isn’t fair. But there is a silver lining. Somewhere at some time in the future, this terrible tragedy will manifest itself in my prose. It will probably be late on a hot summer night. I’ll be staring at my computer screen, a cold beverage sitting discarded on the desk beside me, a look of helplessness on my face. I will have written myself into a corner (future perfect tense and all) when suddenly, from the dusty recesses of the memory vault in my brain, I’ll remember the infamous Frozen Fridge Incident of 2012 and tragedy will give rise to creative genius.

  Writers are the only people I know who benefit from their own failure. When some people would get angry or humiliated, the writer shrugs and says, “Oh, well. It’s all going in my novel.” The more we screw up, the better our source material is when he eventually sit down to pen the next Great American Novel (or play or screenplay or short story, or what have you).

  In my view, you have to fail in life before you can succeed as a writer. You have to write a check for thirty-five cents before you can write about poverty; you have to get your heart broken before you can write about love. It’s those very experiences most people hate that yield the most beautiful words after the fact.

  

  So, if you really want to be a writer, you need to be out in the world, not holed up in your room with your laptop. You’ve got to experience it all, the good and the downright crappy. Get roughed up by the world and your storytelling will be more authentic. Sometimes, you’ll hate it. Sometimes you’ll drag a recliner up a spiral staircase by yourself or throw up on the front lawn of the County Courthouse…and sometimes you’ll seriously debate eating a frozen bell pepper. But when it finally flows out onto the page, it’ll all be worth it.

  — 30 —

  Go ahead, leave a comment. But don’t stop there. Help me prove my middle school years wrong and follow me on the Twitter machine!