Victory, Failure, and Victorious Failure

"Like the great and good in story, if we fail, we fail with glory." --from the hymn "God Speed the Right"

I mentioned in a recent blog that I am most afraid of failure. That admission was not a lie. Neither was the admission that I've had to face that fear. But it wasn't until I was singing "God Speed the Right" in church that it occurred to me that it's entirely possible that our failures are sometimes our victories. Our victories are sometimes our failures. And I, for one, would rather have victorious failures than empty victories.

Though I didn't intend this post to end up this way, I suppose it will--perhaps--be a bit more svithesque than anticipated. But here's the thing: most victories in life will not, in the grand scheme of things (and I do mean the grand, i.e. eternal, scheme of things), matter nearly as much as we thought they did at the time. At least, most of my victories won't.

I tend to want big victories . . . grandiose displays that showcase my intellect, my musical capabilities . . . pick a talent I think I may have, I want to have a way of showing it. And showing it so the world understands how amazing I am. (Admittedly, humility is not exactly my strong suit.)

But I don't want big failures . . . I would rather fail quietly somewhere in a back wing, quietly crying until I can regain my composure enough to fool people into thinking that I'm okay. And this is the thing: these victories and these failures I sometimes invest so much of myself into are petty. Silly affairs. Not even, when I stop to think about them, important in the short run let alone the long run.

As I sat in Relief Society and thought about that particular line, I made a decision. I want to fail. And I want to fail in an epic way. Like the great and good in story, I want to get right out there and fail with glory. And I want this epic fail for two reasons.

First: when it comes to this grand experiment called life, we're all going to fail anyway. None of us will achieve the perfection requested of us. That's a fail. Except we fail with glory when we aim for that perfection, even if we don't reach it. We fail with glory, too, because we have a certain amount of glory bestowed on us as a gift. When it comes right down to the wire, we all fail. That's why the Atonement exists.

Second: today, my roommate and I were joking about inviting a particular person to dinner, and I said, "Let's not and say we did." It's not my life mantra, by any means, but I can think of some other circumstances where I've subscribed to a "Let's not and say I did" kind of attitude. At various times, it has applied to attending Institute classes. To reading my scriptures. To making my prayer meaningful. It's easy to pretend small things.

But I want to fail at fundamentally more important things. Being more friendly. Taking more time to listen to others. Lending a shoulder to cry on. Writing small notes to others. Smiling more. Making people laugh more. Letting people know, more often than I do, how much I appreciate them. I want to try to do too much of this and then fail at it, because in the trying I'll gain the kind of victorious failures that I, for one, would like to have.

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This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Yarjka of Sour Mayonnaise, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Victory'.