Reflecting on life, I wish I had failed more in my early years.
I know what you’re thinking: Who wishes for failure?
But hear me out.
In my early years, I just “got” things. I was a straight-A student in high school. College wasn’t exactly a breeze, but it also wasn’t particularly difficult. Grad school followed a similar pattern.
Here is a concrete example: Most multiple choice questions have 5 choices, which means the average test taker has a 20% chance of picking the right answer. But if you notice closely, there is almost always 2 answers that are extremely close and so by figuring this out, you increased your chances of picking the right answer to 50%.
Looking back now, I realize I wasn’t really challenged.
Sure, I worked hard, but I rarely found myself in situations where I had to pick myself up after failing or truly wrestle with something I couldn’t immediately grasp. It was only later, in the real world—where stakes are high, ambiguity reigns, and “failure” is part of the job description—that I learned just how valuable those early struggles could have been.
Failure, I’ve come to understand, is a gift. It’s humbling, but it’s also where the growth happens. It teaches resilience, creativity, and grit—qualities you can’t develop when things always come easy.
The irony is that I’ve achieved some of my greatest successes because of my failures later in life. Whether it’s been building a company, navigating relationships, or simply becoming a better version of myself, those failures forced me to adapt, learn, and grow in ways that my early “successes” never did.
If I could go back in time, I would attend college in my senior year of high school because I was taking all AP classes at that point.
I’d also tell my younger self to take more risks, step out of my comfort zone, and welcome the possibility of falling short. Because that’s where the real lessons live.