How My Failure Became a Success

To be honest, I thought it was a joke at first. It didn’t really register with me until a few seconds after I got out of the car, fetched my dad, and started driving slowly home. I failed the driving test. I did not run a red light; I did not speed; I did not forget to signal. I looked both directions every time I drove through an intersection, slowed to fifteen miles an hour when crossing railroad tracks, and examined each nearby crosswalk for pedestrians. That’s why when my examiner, without looking at me, told me she would have to disqualify me for scraping the curb with my front wheel when parking, my surprise eventually bled into indignation which quickly headed toward frustration.

My first thought was: “Who in their right mind decided that nudging the curb should be made a Critical Driving Error?” My second was no less juvenile: “It’s not fair. I spent seven months practicing parking and I know how to drive—I deserve to have my license now.” That train of thought might have continued, but after a minute reality set in. Not passing my driving test was an unproductive little failure. It did not result in an “a-ha” moment that caused me to re-evaluate my driving technique, and it definitely did not help me make my case to my cautious parents that I would be a safe and responsible driver.

Normally, I subscribe to the axiom that failures can be used as learning opportunities. It worked for me before when I realized the reason why I couldn’t get better than a C on my Algebra 1 tests was because I never asked my teacher for help dividing exponents. When I have a reason for a failure, I have a signpost pointing me in the direction of future success. That particular failure was so galling because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t come with up a good reason or justification—the only thing responsible for the angry slash through the box marked Unsatisfactory on my wrinkled DMV paper was my own careless error.

At first I was consumed by the desire to rewind the tape of that day, pause at that one moment, and erase the indelible record by slamming my foot on the brake just a second sooner, but that bout of wishful thinking subsided after I made another driving test appointment for three weeks later. That failure was not an example of me working tirelessly to overcome obstacles. More than anything, it was a surprise—living proof that life marches on without regard to my trivial plans and expectations. As soon as I learn to distinguish my minor failures from the ones that really matter, my life will lose volumes of stress. It took me a minute, but soon I stopped thinking about the test. It was over and done. The rest of my life was not.