On Failure

coming to you from yet another hospital room

This is the story of a failure.

Mostly.

Yesterday was supposed to be the last day of our launch of the Get Your Personal Essay Done Live! Challenge; it was also the day C was in the hospital to have emergency gall bladder removal.

I hurriedly sent my VA Dan a message in the morning: “C has had a medical emergency, & I had to call 911 yesterday, ambulance, in hospital [ER] all day; he’s having emergency surgery but it’s risky because of his cancer. I’m going to set aside work for today, but will try to update you as things conme.”

I also pointed out that even though yesterday was supposed to be the last day of our launch, it seemed that literally zero people had signed up. Zero. Putting on the challenge would mean losing money by investing time, money, and other resources into something that hadn’t earned a penny. I’d tried my best—sending out emails and posting on social media—but it seemed like the challenge, which was supposed to be a bonus on top of the regular Academy tuition of $147/month, was simply something that nobody wanted to purchase.

I would have felt more heartbroken by the failure if not for the fact that C had come into my office at 4:30 AM on Sunday morning clearly in distress, which led to my calling 911 and taking my first-ever ambulance passenger ride as the person not on the stretcher. We learned over the course of the day that he needed to have his gall bladder removed as soon as possible, although due to his extremely immunocompromised and otherwise generally struggling body, the surgeons wanted to make sure they could have everything in optimal order before doing the surgery itself. I didn’t have too much time to dwell on the utter failure of the launch because I spent half the day in Big Emergency! No Feelings! mode and the other half feeling like sobbing with fear.

The Academy has been struggling for a while now. Enrollment plummeted last year, and enrollment rates this year thus far have been even more dismal. Whereas online education was exciting and a good way to keep busy for many in the early days of the pandemic, people are now far too busy struggling with finances, it seems, to bother with online education unless it can make them money. Nor am I in the business of, say, teaching how to run a small business that will make you seven! figures!, or even how to make money writing on Substack. Writing personal essays and memoir can be fulfilling and life-changing to some, but right now, it seems like a nice-to-have for most.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself when I think, Failure! Failure! as I check my email again and again, wishing that I could see indication of enrollment. On the other hand, my BFF reminds me that I got C to the hospital when he thought it would be overkill; I’m also the one who drafted the strongly-worded email to his doctor that got him diagnosed with cancer. If it’s a choice between being decent at being a partner and decent at running a small business, C’s life takes precedent every time.

If you’ve been working and working and feeling like you’re failing, I want to let you know that you’re not alone. The feeling of failure is often the feeling of having gone in the wrong direction, bad timing, or anticipatory anxiety about being inherently the kind of person who just gets things all wrong no matter what. I often feel as though I’ve failed, but right now, sitting next to my resting spouse, I know that I’m also succeeding in many things that are important to me.

And so, Dear Reader, I’ll need to figure out some way to pivot and improve when life is less in crisis mode. I want to know what people want to learn from me, and in what format. I’m dipping my toe into figuring out if we’d be able to do an Unexpected Shape writing retreat as a different sort of project.

But if there’s anything else you’d like me to make for you, hit reply and let me know. And if you haven’t yet taken the survey about the writing retreat, please do so here. We need at least 300 responses, and so far we have about 120—an amazing number, but not quite there yet. (Not because we’d want 300 retreat members, which would be far too many! The 300 number is for research purposes.)

I’m so grateful to all of you for the support. You’re here, and I think that’s marvelous. And you know what? You’re also marvelous. You’re also doing so much good in your own lives. Thank you for that.

P.S. I’ve been asked if there’s anything that could help us during this medical crisis, which is so kind of the community; right now, Doordash gift cards would be the best thing—although, as always, please only send something along if you have the means and want to do so. The email to send them to is info@esmewang.com.