Oct 12,2024
Taryn de Vere writes about her attempt to reframe her relationship to failure by embracing it, rather than trying to avoid it.
In January, I unexpectedly found myself unemployed so I decided to re-frame job-hunting. I applied for 30 different 'Dream Jobs', but I made the goal rejection, rather than success.
Like many people, my relationship with failure up until this point was to steadfastly try and avoid it.
So it was a freeing experiment to turn rejection into victory. During that month, I became exceptionally good at failing, but all of the rejections I received came via email, which isn't the worst way to receive such news.
I decided to put myself in a position where failure, and dealing with it head on, was far less easy to avoid. I limited the things I tried, because I was afraid to fail at them.
Recently, I went along to an open-mic night. I was astonished to discover that the audience was primarily made up of men, aged between 18 and mid-30s. With 20 comedians apparently already lined up for the night, I was disappointed and also relieved to find out that the sign-ups had happened already and I’d missed out. 12 male stand ups took to the stage, one after the other.
I asked the MC if there were any people on the line up who weren’t men and he said no, adding that he couldn’t help it if only men signed up. I felt in my bones that this room full of young men would hate my material, but I took a deep breath and asked him if he had room for one more.
He added my name to the list. My internal monologue was screaming at me that this was the very worst idea I’d ever had in my life and that I was going to bomb with this crowd. But it was the principle of it. 20 men? Nope, not when I’m there with some queer, neurodiverse, feminist material at the ready.
My name was called, and I got up. During all the ‘funny’ bits? No one laughed, the room was silent throughout my piece. It was excruciating, but I just kept at it.
After I finished, the MC said to the room, "And that is why we don’t let women perform." This was an assumption on his part, gender doesn’t resonate as something especially relevant to me, and so I identify as genderqueer. However, it didn't feel like a room for nuance.
So I tanked. I failed as a comedian. But if I could go back in time, I’d do it all again because I think failure is just another word for bravery.
Putting yourself out there publicly for anything you want - be it a job, a person you fancy, or a side hustle as a comedian - takes courage.
My biggest take-away from my Rejection Challenge in January was that it’s the having expectations part that stings. If you remove the expectation that you’ll be successful, and just see what happens, the failures don’t hurt nearly as much.
Tips on how to fail:
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