Paradox of learning through failure

“If he were to aim not for success but for failure, and then fail according to that plan, that failure would become the first success he has ever known.” (From 'How Not to Fail' by Ahn Gyu-chul)

Has anyone ever been truly free, even for a fleeting instant, in the face of what we call failure? Have I ever honestly embraced it, even once? For someone who has long prized equanimity above all else, this passage once seemed to belong to a distant realm. I deliberately chose a life poised between summits and valleys, avoiding both dazzling brilliance and utter darkness. I told myself that such balance would allow me to savor life in full. Looking back, however, I see that restraint for what it was: a subtle form of arrogance.

In recent years, the media has frequently framed attitudes toward life in terms of two categories: the avoidant type and the secure type. The avoidant type is portrayed as withdrawing when faced with confrontation, attempting to conserve emotional energy. The secure type, in contrast, recognizes personal anxiety yet responds to circumstances with candor and composure. We tend to elevate the secure type as the ideal. Yet I am not convinced that a strict line separates right from wrong here. What ultimately matters is less the stance one takes than the extent to which one makes room in life for the possibility of failure.

There is a quiet paradox in failing and, through that very failure, learning how not to fail. If our missteps were to gather and trace a wide arc, they might form a circle so complete that it brings us back to where we need to be. However far we wander, the path would eventually converge again. The markers along the road would gently redirect us toward another route. Instead of insisting on flawless outcomes at every turn, perhaps we can allow our stumbles and detours to serve a larger purpose. A mistake made today may, in time, guide me precisely to the place where I am meant to stand.