I fail more often than I succeed,
but what does failure mean?
A loose end,
an exit,
someone else’s opinion,
not measuring up?
To what?
The sky,
other people,
a child,
that I zig instead of zag?
It means so many things,
it means nothing,
so I’ve decided I’ve never failed
at anything.
My life’s a rousing success!
I’ve spent a fortune before I’ve made it.
I discovered truth and buried it,
who’s to say what it was,
if they don’t know what it is.
So I’m going to teach success,
starting with children,
who seem to succeed without our help
or in spite of it.
I shall teach proportion first.
All failure is a step on the road
to success,
and loving to travel.
I shall teach them the love of a journey,
to keep going past success,
to give up the ending,
to stop always stopping.
And appreciate the vast continuum
of never succeeding,
the race of never finishing,
the face never losing its smile.
Because you haven’t passed the course,
finished the garden,
ceased falling in love,
selecting monuments.
So I fail with a light heart.
I never excuse myself.
I never regret that I tried.
That nothing stops me
because I’m not afraid to be stopped.