I have always been welcoming of failure; not of its murk, but rather of the prospect of turning it into constructive experience. It seems that the only way to properly learn is to discover one’s ignorance, and to do so is naturally to suffer failure. And when this realization finally sets itself upon one in sheer weight and clarity, one will find oneself ever more fortified against the harsh winds of failure; never swaying, never losing your foothold and toppling, but absorbing the momentum of every gust and using it to propel oneself towards the bright beacon of success.
But there is a danger in assuming such a philosophy. Or at least one that I fear slipping into. I have found myself becoming increasingly indifferent towards the despair of failure, insofar that I no longer greatly fear it. And because of that, I no take extra caution to avoid failure – whatever is the outcome, I will be sure to learn. A willing acceptance of everything thus becomes my illness, and it is one that I seem content living with. Woe to the one who is unafraid of the barb of failure, of the sting essential to human perfection.