Failure is a Phoenix

Failure is chronically misunderstood and under-valued in our society.

Some of the very best lessons I have experienced come from
failure, sometimes epic failure.

In my own internal “way-back” machine I see a fourteen year old,
clothes saturated from wood smoke with traces of tree sap and the
crushed leaves of Labrador Tea brush. A copy of Siddhartha by 
Herman Hesse nestles in my pack, carefully water-proofed in a 
rafting bag. I am feeling invincible, maybe a touch smug, as I
return from ten days on a long hunt with my father.

I am the last one out from our wilderness camp. The Cessna 180 on
floats angles toward a town lake. From here my father and I and our
gear will board a train for home.

Once we land, silver plumes of water shoot out from the pontoons. 
The renown bush pilot wearing a colorful wool beanie glances at me.
“Hop on out, Skookum.” Even my nick-name fills me with a kind
of ego helium.

Aware of the crowd lining the lake shore, I imagine a victorious wave as 
I step on the strut in order to help ease the plane up to the dock.

Daydreaming and reality part ways. I'm thinking ahead of myself,
not actually paying attention or noting the drop, the degree of separation,
or the push-back of breeze against pontoons.

I step off and plummet straight into the lake. The crowd roars as my boots
make contact with lake muck (known as loon shit).
I blush furiously, feeling a bit like  Johnny The Human Torch from the 
Fantastic Four comics. Flame ON!

The bystanders continue to be amused. I pull up onto the pontoon, get my 
bearings and as we drift a bit closer I extend one leg out. As the plane 
bobs against the tire rimmed dock, I jump down, ready to help unload our
remaining gear.

The pilot says nothing as I squelch back and forth, pretending that I  
intended the cool plunge, even as I check for leeches. As I shoulder my 
pack I imagine the Buddha chuckling from inside the waterproof pouch.

Shuffling towards the truck that will take me to the station I turn to 
wave to the pilot, grateful for his completely nonverbal response to my initial 
failure to connect with the dock.
Deep in the vault of this memory I see his quick grin and 
wink from an eye as blue as a sky's horizon line.  

Failure is at least  as important as success. It is the path, the phoenix
rising from its inevitable heap of ash, once more extending its wings.