JK Rowling on Failure

Taken from: http://www.joolshamilton.com/blog/read.php?p=1787

In 2008 JK Rowling gave the commencement address at Harvard. One of her themes was failure … it’s an inspiring speech … below is part of it:     What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure. At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers. I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well–educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment. However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well–acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown. Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short–lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears that my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew. Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea then how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality. So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life. You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default. Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above the price of rubies. The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more than any qualification I ever earned. So given a Time Turner, I would tell my 21–year–old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check–list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.  

 

more stuff for mates

Taken from: http://www.joolshamilton.com/blog/read.php?p=1785

 Maybe it’s best if I just link here to some of the best blogs n’such that I’m reading … last week there was old Bart (actually, he’s not old at all) … this week, here is a brilliant piece from Vicki Beeching …   Enjoy & pass it on.  

 

more stuff from mates

Taken from: http://www.joolshamilton.com/blog/read.php?p=1786

 Maybe it’s best if I just link here to some of the best blogs n’such that I’m reading … last week there was old Bart (actually, he’s not old at all) … this week, here is a brilliant piece from Vicki Beeching …   Enjoy & pass it on.  

 

Back again

Taken from: http://www.joolshamilton.com/blog/read.php?p=1784

It’s May.   I might as well write something.   Or even better, I might as well put on here a writer who never fails to inspire me. Here is the latest ‘letter’ from Bart Campolo …     I was on the third floor of our house a few weeks ago, talking on the phone, when I noticed a small hole in the wall over my desk. I didn’t think much of it until a few hours later, when I opened the drapes and found matching holes in the double–paned window behind me. I connected the dots, of course; the bullet wouldn’t have hit me if Marty and I had been home the night before, but it surely would have freaked us out.Instead, it just made us feel stupid. Really, despite all the guns, alcohol, and ignorance in this neighborhood, chances are slim that anyone in my family will get shot. On the other hand, if something really bad ever does happen, we’re going to look like total idiots for staying, especially when we so often wonder what difference it makes.Marty and I planned to keep the matter to ourselves. When Roman called home from college, however, I ended up telling him I wasn’t sure the rewards here were worth the risks. Before I knew it, he was giving me my own pep talk.“Come on, Pops,” he said, “it’s definitely worth it. Think about all the people in that neighborhood who are better off because of the fellowship. Their lives still may be totally messed up, but they get to be part of something good, they have really positive friendships they would never have on their own, and they have something special to look forward to every week. What you guys do there matters.”Hearing that from my son made me feel better, of course, but it took more than that to convince me.Every year or so, we give folks two weeks’ notice to get ready for what may be the world’s oddest show–and–tell talent show. It is mainly for the kids, of course, but we encourage everyone to participate in some way, and pretty much everyone does. One year Nick brought his baseball glove and explained why he likes playing, Dre did a standing backflip, Emily burped on command, and little Majesty sang a Temptations song acapella. Last year Ronnie read an endless and incomprehensible science–fiction movie review until I finally got up and stopped him (and simultaneously instituted the much–beloved five–minute limit). Regardless, according to prior instruction everybody gets a huge ovation.This year, as we cleared away the dinner plates and rearranged the chairs, I put my arm around Jimmy, a quiet old man who smoked and drank with our friend Chester, and who surprised us all by continuing to come to dinner after Chester died last year. Even so, none of us have had much success talking with Jimmy, and he still barely acknowledges us when we see him on the street. Mostly he seems to endure our company in exchange for a home–cooked meal.“I’m glad you made it tonight, Jimmy,” I said. “Oh, I wouldn’t have missed it,” he replied with a smile. “I came to read my poem.” Really, you could have knocked me over with a feather at that point, but I didn’t let on. Instead, I gave my “applaud no matter what” speech and started the show.Ronnie’s act was mercifully short this time, Zach played his harmonica, Marty showed off our beloved tandem bike, and Lexus read her A–plus science report on volcanoes before I finally called on Jimmy, half–expecting him to beg off at the last minute. Instead, he walked to the front of the room, pulled a dog–eared paper out of his jacket, and read aloud in a clear voice.When Jimmy finished, we all sat in stunned silence for a moment before we began to cheer. “I haven’t heard that many words out of you in two years!” Mark called to him as he returned to his seat grinning. The show went on, of course, but I couldn’t get what Jimmy said out of my mind. Afterwards, however, he slipped away before I could thank him. Marty got the poem, though:This Is The Place That My Friend Chester Harris Brought Me ToI Was Unsure And Didn’t Know What To DoBut Now That Bart And Marty Have Helped Me ThroughWith All The Good Loving And All The Good FoodI Have A New Loving Family And Christian Love Too.We framed it, of course, and hung it right where it belongs, covering the bullet hole over my desk.