:[The Hidden Lessons We Miss]
We live in a world that glorifies success. “Failure”, then, is the “unwanted result” carved on our forehead, bearing the weight of endless self-guilt, frustration, and shame.
Each disappointment strips away the layers of our ego, exposing something raw. It is bloody and scary. And no, it doesn’t look nice from any possible perspective, you might say. As if standing upon a desolate battlefield, the land soaked with blood, bodies scattered like fallen soldiers of an ancient war. “Unwanted results” appear nothing less than gruesome and agonizing.
That is what we know; what we don’t know is we loathe them at the expense of denigrating what we have been through and who we were. We loathe them so much that we end up hating parts of ourselves too. There isn’t just one new wound when we stab into our hearts unknowingly—it’s a series of cuts, inflicted again and again, with every choice we make against ourselves.
We are so vulnerable, yet we don’t know what to do, because no one talks about how to address our vulnerability in school or society. Ironically, through the advancements of education and collective wisdom, we’ve created weapons capable of destroying the world, saved numerous species on the brink of extinction (as we should, for we share the blame), and invented AI (I mean, wow). But despite all these achievements, schools have never taught us how to embrace our shattered dignity and broken heart. We miss the very source of growth—our vulnerability, which could have led to our own mental evolution.
Yes, we are heartbroken, but that’s when true transformation takes over.
We are blind to our blindness.
The breaks aren’t endings, but invitations to a deeper journey of self-realization. Failure is never the opposite of success; it is a necessary precursor. These moments challenge us to redefine who we were and who we will become.
Is that so? You don’t believe it, do you? But deep down, you’ve known it all along. Remember the first time you saw a Superman movie? Do you remember how you felt when you saw him put on that red cape, flying across the screen to save the world? That rush of excitement and hope—it filled your heart, didn’t it?
If you didn’t believe in bravery, in miracles, in turning the impossible into possible, you wouldn’t have sat there, staring at the screen in awe. Instead, you would have laughed and said, "People can’t fly. What a dumb movie." But you didn’t. You believed. And deep deep down, even now, you still do.
In the realm of storytelling, particularly through Joseph Campbell’s concept of the Hero’s Journey, failure is the path to triumph where the protagonist’s evolution unfolds. The hero must endure hardships, failures, and horrendous moments of despair before they can return to glory. This cycle is seen in many narratives, from Greek mythology to modern films like Top Gun: Maverick.
When we watch heroes emerge from humble beginnings, only to be cast into trials by fate and knocked down to rock bottom, for no reason, we just have that gut feeling they will always manage to climb back up from the abyss, much like Tom Cruise soaring through the clouds in his jet. Through our collective unconscious, we all cheer for him, feeling as though his triumph could be our own. So close to our hearts, we almost believe it’s true.
But then, we leave the cinema, and reality sets in. We return to our "shithole," staring into a mirror that reflects scars we’d rather not acknowledge—scars that mark all the unwanted results and "we-ask-for-it self-blame." At that moment, the siren of truth blares in our minds, shouting, "That's a movie, not real life." Real life, we tell ourselves, is no hero's place. If there is a hero, it certainly isn’t me.
But how do you know? Where do those gut feelings go?
The collective unconscious, a concept introduced by Carl Jung, suggests that the themes of heroism, struggle, and victory are archetypes embedded in the human experience. In a way, these stories become symbolic representations of our challenges in reality and that is why we feel so connected to these narratives. Collectively, it taps into something deeply human—a shared longing for meaning in the face of suffering, for transcendence, and for a better tomorrow.
So, perhaps it’s not that we are merely spectators of heroism. The movies we enjoy aren’t just an escape from reality—they resonate because they mirror our own battles and longings. In the grander narrative of life, we are heroes too—facing our own personal battles, and, like the heroes on the screen, finding ways to rise again, even when the odds seem insurmountable.
If you’re not standing at the top of where you once expected to be, it doesn’t mean there’s nothing worth anticipating. Your moment hasn’t come yet. As you shed tears, sweat, and yes, even bleed along the way, you are not weakened—you are refined, every single day, deciphering the mysteries of vulnerability, failure, and resilience.
When we reframe failure not as a fall but as a necessary descent into our inner worlds, we begin to harvest something far more nourishing: self-awareness, self-control, and self-care. The journey is not to the top but to the depths of who we are becoming.
The journey you’re embarking on, though often lonely, is truly worth celebrating. It is in those gloomy days that you discover something incredibly valuable: your authentic self.
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