FAILURE.

The Asian scarlet letter.

There’s something about failure that reminds me of Yoga; you become more flexible with practice. I used to be terrified of the Hindu stretchercising back in high school, and not because all of my friends thought it was gay. My fear was spawned by the fact that I could barely touch my knees due to many years of lethargy and several months of Accutane. (Side Note: One of Accutane’s MANY unfortunate side effects is joint stiffening.) 

Because adolescent acne isn't depressing enough.

Despite being about as pliable as a plate of glass, I took my dermatologist’s advice and attended a yoga class. As if the Enya tunes and abundance of grandmas weren’t bad enough, the class began at 6:00 AM. (That explains the influx of elderly folk.) After fighting the urge to flee the scene, I unrolled my yoga mat and prepared for my first Downward-Facing Dog. 

It was a very rude awakening.

Sure enough, I sucked. Some would even say I failed. Not the Yogi, of course, because that kind of negativity doesn’t jive with the Namaste lifestyle. Instead of berating me like an abusive football coach, he grabbed my hips and readjusted my body in ways that would make my homophobic friends run to the nearest Chick-Fil-A. (Topical Zinger)

As I assumed the Child Pose during the cool down, I assessed my first Yoga experience. Was it uncomfortable? Absolutely. Was it embarrassing? Undoubtedly. Did I survive? Seemingly. Would I be back? Possibly. It wasn’t until I got up from the floor and began gathering my things that I realized something magical; I was touching my toes! Unfortunately, that atypical flexibility was gone by the time I reached the car, but I could finally see the path to elasticity!

Breathe through your mouth on this one.

And that, readers, is what it feels like to fail. Somewhere buried in that haystack of humiliation and discomfort is the key to success. Every time a creative recruiter blackballed me from their agency, I saw how to better my book. (Sadly, it took A LOT of blackballs.) Whenever a romance turns into a Gotye song (you know the one), I learn what to (and not to) look for in my next mate. And every time I fail to capture a respectable blog following, well, that class is still in session.

Point is, failure is not the end of the world. (Unless you’re Asian.) You just have to put on your stretchy pants, unroll your Yoga mat and make some adjustments.