The Wisdom of Mistakes

If you want to succeed, embrace failure.

A year ago, I would have expected such paradoxical advice to come

from a Taoist monk or a Jedi master. Now, after a sabbatical year away
from school, I find myself touting that same refrain as I explore
questions about teaching and learning. How do I encourage the
freshman boy who struggles on an early test? How do I help a rookie
softball shortstop maintain her confidence when her throw sails over
the first basemans head? How do I support the senior whos worried
about getting rejected by her first-choice school?

Even though we at Northfield Mount Hermon see ourselves as an

open-minded prep schoolnot just getting kids to the top colleges,
but to the schools and programs that fit them bestwe still employ
many of the same measuring sticks that our peers do. We want our
kids to excel in academics, arts and athleticsnail all three, even
better. To the teenage mind, a single failure can sometimes feel
ruinous. Lose one game and you miss the playoffs. Get one B and you
might get rejected at Princeton. Such a high-pressure house of cards
leaves little room for exploring uncertain ground and crowds out the
benefits of healthy risk-taking.

During my sabbatical explorations last year, I studied how to foster a

more courageous, creative, and connected classroom. More
specifically, I explored how four varied fieldscontemplative practice,
improvisational theater, positive reinforcement behavioral training,
and growth mindset workcould overlap in such an effort. Some of

my colleagues chuckled at the scope and complexity of the projecta

year long drink at the fire hydrant, eh?but I sensed Id find valuable
insights.

My travels led me to create art in nature at an eco-spiritual

community on the coast of Scotland and sing Spontaneous Broadway
on the improv stages of San Francisco. I watched an NCAA champion
softball coach lead practice in Florida and heard mythical tales of
powerful horses in Iceland. I learned about mindset in a conversation
with a psychology professor at Stanford and about compassion from
some street vendors in Venice, Italy. Everything I encountered, it
seemed, invited me to shift my way of thinking about failure.

For example, most contemplative traditions use a gentler approach to

so-called mistakes. When attention strays from a focus pointthe
breath, for exampletheres no ridicule or shaming. One simply
notices the straying and gets back to the focusing. The lapse
becomes a lesson.

When I struggled last summer to build a fragile trail of stones

extending from a boulder into a tidal pool, I remembered the words of
nature artist Andy Goldsworthy in the documentary Rivers and Tides
as he laments a fallen stone sculpture:

The moment when it collapses is intensely disappointing. This is the

fourth time its fallen, and each time I got to know the stone a little
bit more, it got higher each time. It grew in proportion to my
understanding of the stone.

He then pauses before adding:

I obviously dont understand it well enough yet.

Again, no self-flagellation, only the recognition that hes learningand
needs to learn more.

The theater improvisors I met showed me how to rebound from muckups with a practice known as the Failure Bow. Rather than compound
a mistake by wincing from expected punishmentexternal or internal
the actor defuses the failure by taking a proud step forward and
throwing both arms in the air to declare I failed! Woo hoo! In other
words, Yes, I messed up. And yes, Im still here. Im still growing. Such
cheerful resilience delights audiences and inspires stagemates. And
the eagerness is infectious.

Correct hand position for a great swing: click!

Behavioral trainers and coaches who employ positive reinforcement

methodsreward movement toward the behavior you want and
ignore the restdont harp on failure either. I can use a tag, a nonverbal audible marker like a snap or a click, to let a softball player
know when shes got her wrists in proper position to make a great
swing, for example. The tag says Yes. If she doesnt hear the sound,
I dont point out the error or offer more instruction. I stay silent.
Theres no dishonor or derision, only the information the player
needs. In the quiet, she then determines the necessary adjustment
and receives reinforcement from me the moment she finds the right
alignment. Her failure provides feedback. It leads to the solution.

Someone with a fixed mindset believes that whatever abilities we

have come set in stone. No amount of effort can make up for a lack in
talent and, in fact, effort demonstrates a lack of talent. A growth
mindset, in contrast, suggests greater fluidity in intelligence and
ability. Those who see their apparent failures as prototypes for future
success maintain the courage and resilience to keep going. They
stoke their flames for further learningand ultimately reach farther
than others who think theyre fixed.

These attitudes toward failure may seem revolutionary in educational

settings, where we so often focus only on success, but tilling new soil
often bears huge fruit. Errors in the classroomor on the playing field,
or the stage, or wherever students are absorbing new information
offer valuable information for incremental improvement and
sometimes bust open the window to previously unforeseeable
innovation. In failure, we can all find wisdom and opportunities for real
learning. No Jedi master or Taoist sage necessary.