Learning to Fail - What a Baby Can Teach us About Attitude

Taking risks, making mistakes, internalizing those results, and trying again with our new found knowledge is one of the simplest and most effective ways to learn. This statement is so basic, so fundamental to who we are as humans and mammals that it’s been applied from Aristotle - “For the things we have to learn before we can do them, we learn by doing them.”, to Batman “Why do we fall down Bruce? --- So we can learn to pick ourselves back up again.”

It pervades pop culture and philosophy. It is intrinsic within us – everything from talking, to walking, to learning how to properly use a toilet, we as humans learn by doing. Through trial and error and observing the trials and errors of others. We learn in this method before we learn any other approach. Think of a baby. She has no memories to draw on, no past experiences, no language with which to communicate. She must puzzle out how her legs move, learn how to balance, and then put one foot in front of the other. Something every single person she interacts with who is bigger, stronger and older than her does on a daily basis, she confronts as a monumental task - and something she literally cannot comprehend until she’s achieved it.

Now think about this. Every child with the capability learns to walk. First we crawl (or in my case scoot) around the living room. Then we “toddle”, and before our parents know it, we’re getting into the pantry and eating dog food! Have you ever heard of a healthy child that simply did not attempt the act? A child who just said, it’s too hard, I’ve fallen too many times, I can’t do it? I certainly haven’t. Every baby I’ve known falls, maybe cries, gets frustrated, and tries again, and again, and again.

Fast forward six or seven years. This child is learning to ride a bike. She’s no dummy. She’s got her helmet on, her knee pads tightened, and the training wheels are off. She’s also no coward, she’s tried this a few times. There’s scuff marks on those shin pads and some scrapes and bruises beside. She’s bloody, but not broken. They’re getting ready to try again, dad starts her down the sidewalk, gives warning, and lets go of the handlebars. She’s pedaling, wobbling, the sidewalk is going by faster and faster and suddenly her handlebars start to turn, she over-corrects, shouts in surprise and in fear of what she knows is coming next.

A few weeks later, she’s just gotten out of the brace the doctor gave her for a sprained wrist. It’s still sore. Dad, undaunted, wants to try again. Our brave girl, who mastered walking around on her own two feet without giving up, without understanding the potential consequences of failing, and without any external help besides her own observations – quietly says no. She doesn’t want to.

What’s changed? Certainly she hasn’t lost her courage, she’s tried again and again. She’s climbed the jungle gym at school, she’s no stranger to scrapes and bruises. She’s been living, running, talking, reasoning, learning about the world, what is right, wrong, and most importantly to our discussion – letting her imagination do what it was designed to do.

The human mind is unique in its ability to think several steps ahead of a potential action, to extrapolate vivid fantasies and horrific consequences, and even look at multiple potential outcomes. It’s a survival trait we’ve evolved and it’s made us the apex species of an entire planet. Here’s something to note – while the imagination may be limitless, the pool of knowledge from which we draw to fuel it is not. We only know what we know, and our little girl’s reality is that when she tries to ride her bike, she gets hurt. This is what she’s learned, through trial and error. Who could fault her, really? That’s what parents are there for, to encourage, to add perspective and show us that no matter how many times we fall, eventually it will pay off.

The irony – as much as parents are here to teach us to overcome our fears and push ourselves to be better, to try again and again; they are also largely responsible for instilling those fears and doubts by their actions, words, and teachings (intentional or otherwise). Concepts like “failure” and “success” we mold from our parents at a very young age. Proper emotional responses, and how we internalize feelings of inadequacy or achievement are also transferred largely by a child’s observation of parents.

Here’s a simple example most of us can relate to: A young child is playing, runs and scrapes his knee, begins to whimper. Mother rushes over and makes a fuss, and the child begins to cry much harder. If mother comes over calmly however, doesn’t encourage the tears and downplays the severity of the situation, the child will be calmer, and probably be up and playing again in a few moments. This is just one example, but we’ve all seen instances of parenting techniques that encourage certain behaviors.

Where am I going with all this? Only that People are far simpler than we typically like to think. The same tried and true methods we used to learn as infants still apply today. The difference is experience, both our own and the shared experiences of others, to fuel our imaginations and inform our choices and perceptions based on how we believe things could play out. Evolution has programmed us to assess potential risks and make a decision based on what we know. It’s why we’re afraid of the dark, why we fear the bump in the night – when you’re hyper sensitive to these things, you stand a far better chance of seeing the predator before it attacks. Whether or not what we “know” is true, is another matter entirely, and this is where we must become masters of our own nature to make it serve us. The beauty of the human consciousness is our ability to shape our own perceptions.

The key is that we do not forget this awesomely underrated ability. Perception is reality. Just ask my dog when I leave for work– that poor animal is convinced I’m is never coming back. Then, when I do come home (as I do every day), I’m greeted by a tidal wave of joy. Loki’s (yes my dog’s name is Loki) life is simple. Seeing is believing for him. For me though, leaving isn’t the agonizing part. I know simply because I can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s gone. The agonizing part is knowing he’s home alone and cooped up indoors until I return to let him out. Yet how do I really “know” he’s miserable? Maybe he’s happy as a clam, sleeping all day and chasing rabbits in his dreams. Yet I feel guilty, because I have learned that one should properly care for their pet. So as a responsible pet owner (or so I like to think), I worry I’m not doing enough. All of these feelings, these responsibilities and obligations are learned, and associated with feelings of what is right and wrong, responsible and irresponsible. If my mother hadn’t ingrained the necessity of being a responsible pet owner into my mind when I was coming up, I might not think twice about leaving him home all day. Whether taught, observed, or simply extrapolated by my anxiety ridden psyche – it doesn’t matter, my heart sinks when I hear him whining behind the door as I lock it.

What myself and the little girl who’s afraid to ride her bike share, what we all share, is an ability that at once frees us and shackles us. Thomas Edison said “If we did all the things we are capable of, we would literally astound ourselves.” I think he hit the nail on the head. That baby toddling around the living room knows no fear of failure, only the constant encouragement of those around her to try again, the happy faces and the joy she sees on her parents faces when she tries again, and makes it one step further. We could all learn something from the baby and Mr. Edison – There is no such thing as failure, and fear is simply a tool to keep you out of danger, not out of happiness. Each step we take forward is an achievement, even if we fall, and the greatest among us have fallen more times than most of us have tried to stand. Be like the baby - unaware and uncaring of the obstacles, focused only on the smiling faces around you.

*Photo credit to www.advisoranalyst.com