It’s gutting to witness a bright individual, ripe with potential, grieve about experiencing failure for the first time. Worse is when that capable individual then decides to throw in the towel because of a little pushback. The refusal to repurpose failure into motivation is not only a wasted opportunity, but also a disservice that I hope to prevent you—that capable individual—from doing to yourself down the line.
Take, for example, the television series Gilmore Girls. Rory Gilmore spends her life being worshipped and applauded by family, teachers, all Stars Hollow residents. However, when she takes an internship at Mitchum Huntzburger’s news firm, for the first time, Rory does not receive instantaneous praise. Mitchum criticizes her performance, wondering why she chose not to deliver any personal insight or unique stance on company affairs. He wonders if she’s “got it.” Instead of taking Mitchum’s words as a challenge, Rory decides to drop out of Yale University and move in with her grandparents, momentarily abandoning her aspirations to become a journalist.
Watching this situation play out is beyond irking, but sadly, beyond common. Rory’s post-high-school arc represents a tale as old as time. Youth who succeed effortlessly all their lives from high school to the early days of university are painfully unaware that coasting early in life is not indicative of future triumph. Mitchum Huntzburger’s criticism is a powerful reminder that the real world is sometimes brutally honest. It doesn’t walk around on eggshells or sugarcoat reality. Interns, like Rory, are there to learn. Blunders are expected. Receiving initial criticism might be a disappointing anomaly at first, but really, it’s a form of courtesy.
Not only do I understand the fear of failure, but I’m living it as we speak. Thoughts about college applications loom in my mind. I’ve begun mapping out my future. I’ve begun taking more rigorous courses. Shifts that make the premise of failure increasingly tangible—threatening to shatter a brief lifetime of perceived victory. Here’s the thing. Should this version of me, the one who aces exams without effort, the one who receives praise left and right, the one placed on a giant pedestal, the one who has never experienced—so therefore never conquered—adversity, really be the best version? Isn’t it all the more fulfilling to first stumble, but then get up, and then flourish?
Compare Rory’s journey with that of Elle Woods in Legally Blonde. Elle puts in the tenacity required to get into Harvard Law, yet she is still belittled—and even has her dedication questioned—because she doesn’t fit the cookie-cutter “serious” law student mold. Sounds kind of familiar. But do you know where Elle differed? Instead of letting the skepticism of others weigh her down, Elle rises up and proves them wrong by maintaining the diligence that got her into Harvard Law in the first place. Elle goes on to score a massive legal victory—by weaponizing the extensive cosmetics knowledge that initially made her a laughingstock.
Compare Elle’s captivating triumph with Rory’s disenchanting internal defeat. Wouldn’t it have been all the more satisfying if Rory Gilmore walked into that conference room the next week and then PROVED she’s got it?
Resilience—the ability to bounce back—is missing in so many promising young individuals. Many are navigating similar internal strife, whether through early success in academics, artistry, athletics—whether aware of it or not. Indiana University found “53% of teens feel pressure to be exceptional and impressive through their achievements” via short-term constructs: “honors classes, good grades, jobs…” I’ve become aware of the microcosm I inhabit.
But a simplistic call for optimism can easily backfire. It is easier said than done to see past your first major failure, especially when you’ve never even encountered anything like it before that moment. You can’t see it “logically” as you’re told patronizingly by those around you. It’s a devastating punch to the gut, knocking you down. It invalidates your previous victories. It’s a signal that maybe you’re not as capable as you thought.
But just as I’ve asked myself earlier, let me ask you. Should your greatest success stories all be from high school? Four measly years out of an entire lifetime? Four years that will be reduced to hazy memories at best for many adults by the ten-year mark?
It’s frustrating, but above all, depressing to witness enthusiastic determination deteriorate into quiet resignation. If you can play the long game and choose to retain resilience, it will not only allow you to grow into the best version of yourself down the road, but it will consequently allow you to prevent one of the most dreaded realizations: peaking in high school. Your first major taste of adversity may be the first chapter in a gratifying success story you have yet to author.
