The Third Lesson

In my last post, I mentioned a conversation I had with my daughters about being fired. We talked about what it meant, why it happened, and what were two very important lessons to take away. Of course, before I was able to get to them, my daughter busted up in the conversation with a total truth bomb that everyone who has ever held any job should try to remember – it’s not about the money. (Maybe I’ll do a later blog about what it IS about.)

The two very important lessons were simple:

1. If you say you’re going to do something, do it. And, if you decide not to do it, be prepared to offer an explanation for why you didn’t. People will want to know. If faced with the choice, choose integrity over other options.

2. If you want to make progress, you have to engage. Like a sprocket and chain on a bike, each one has a different design and purpose – a different way of looking at the world and interpreting it. If you get past those differences and engage with each other, the whole bike moves forward. Without engagement, it will stay exactly where it is and nothing will change.

I’ve had three weeks to process these lessons prior to writing this blog. As I sat down to write this morning, I realized the third lesson will be the most potent. It’s the lesson watched, not the lesson taught, that will be remembered.

That third lesson, when you fail, get up quick and move on. About 3-4 years ago, I failed my family in a big way. After the dust began to settle, I had a good friend of mine, Andrew Dagostin, who told me that I needed to shake it off and move on. I remember the parking space at the Home Depot on Hwy 280 where I sat in my truck, on my phone, and told him that I knew what I needed to do, but I wanted to hold on to the bitterness because I wanted to remember the pain. I wanted the pain to sink in good and deep so that I would remember what it felt like. Next time, I’d stand up for myself and not let someone bully me around. I would fear the pain of failure more than the pain of rejection.

You know, the funny thing about pain, you build a tolerance. Every increase only raises your threshold. That experience did teach me a lesson; my response, was a terrible one that I dare not repeat again. So, this time, I was determined not to sit around, sulk, feel sorry for myself, and lick my wounds. I came home and immediately jumped back into life.

The firing wasn’t a failure, it was a blessing. God has a wide open door to do anything He sees fit to do with my life. I’m no longer “stuck” working for someone who has far more interest in being a “boss” than being a leader. Failure is not permanent – just like pain, it goes away.

I hope that my girls focus more on this third lesson. Failure WILL happen, but it does not define you… unless you let it. There is always a lesson to be learned in failure. Learn it quick and get up quicker.