Go Ahead. Fail.

I heard an interview with Alan Arkin on NPR this week about his new book, An Improvised Life: A Memoir. He said when he began doing improv he realized for the first time in his life he was allowed to fail. Allowed to fail! He said it was his gift of freedom.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.

He went on to explain that improv meant experimenting on stage in front of a live audience, which often resulted in failed scenes. But improv audiences never expect every scene to work; if one flops, they know the next one probably won’t. It’s not about failure; it’s about taking chances.

I grew up thinking failure was bad and failure had many faces.

As a kid in school, it was a stern look over lowered glasses, punctuated by crossed arms and audible tsks. Anything below a 'B' on a report card indicated lack of discipline and failure in the eyes of the nuns (I went to Catholic school). An 'F' was grounds for dismissal.

In the fourth grade, I flunked six spelling tests in a row. I could spell perfectly fine but I had lost my spelling book and was bluffing my way through the tests. My punishment for losing the book was copying the dictionary. It was supposed to make me appreciate the importance of books and teach me spelling at the same time; all it did was make me mad. I missed recess every day for a month. In case you’re wondering, I got as far as the 'D’s'.

At home, failure had a serious look and a voice. It scolded and yelled. My older brother consistently brought home 'C’s' or worse and was constantly in trouble like the Halloween he smashed the neighbor’s pumpkins and threw raw eggs. Seeing and hearing the consequences of his behavior, I was determined not to follow his example. I wasn’t an angel, but I stayed out of trouble.

In sports, failure had yet a different look. Games were all about winning, about being the best or scoring the most points. Striking out (Babe Ruth struck out 1,330 times) or missing a basket (Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team) drew groans and shouts and raised arms from coaches and teammates. There was little forgiveness for inept athletes.

On the sidelines there was even less leeway. The dreaded mistake any girl outside the inner circle of good looks and popularity could make was thinking she could earn a spot on the cheer squad–even if she knew all the moves. I stayed in the bleachers. Fear of failure handcuffed me.

Fortunately, over the years, fear gave way to the discovery that not taking a risk, meant being stuck–maybe forever. I didn’t want to be restricted; I wanted new experiences even if I did fail. I had turned a corner. Suddenly, I was more afraid not to fail.

The loud and clear message in life today is: succeed. The message makes failure unacceptable. Too often, the yardstick of success, measured in terms of fame and fortune, dismisses the importance of experimentation. Setbacks happen. Sometimes our best just isn’t good enough, and we do fail.

Famous people have had miserable failures. Did you know that Steven Spielberg dropped out of high school with a 'C' average and failed to get accepted into film school three times? That Thomas Edison was told he wasn’t smart enough to learn? That Abraham Lincoln was demoted from captain to private, failed twice in business, lost eight elections, and had a nervous breakdown before becoming president? They didn’t quit; they picked themselves up and tried again and again and again until they succeeded.

In the movie, Pursuit of Happyness, Chris Gardner (played by Will Smith) tells his son, “Don’t ever let somebody tell you you can’t do something. You got a dream, you gotta’ protect it. You want something, go get it.” In real life, Gardner overcame failure and went from a homeless father raising a young son to a millionaire stockbroker.

It may be safer not to take a risk, to stay in the middle of the road, but living a life of mediocrity is not very creative.

For me, failure would be staying static; success is having the courage to take the first step toward growth and change. And happiness only happens when I open myself to the process and accept the result.

Whether I fail or not (and I undoubtedly will), I know as long as I allow myself to fail, give myself permission to not get it right every time out of the shoot, I won’t regret trying. I don’t have the key to success, but I do know I have to stare down the fear of failure and go for it!

Besides, I don’t want to miss that incredible feeling that happens when I do succeed. How about you?