Failing Forward

 The opening soundtrack of Jaws played as I zipped up my wetsuit for the first time. Bum-bum. Bum-bum. The music echoed memories of a shark dorsal fin cutting through the dark water. Bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum. I scanned the high waves of the Great Barrier Reef as I tugged on my fins, flipsies, flippers, flappers. Why were they so hard to pull on wet feet? Bum-bum. Bum-bum. Had I seen the dark shadow of a shark swimming off the side of the boat? Of course not. But even if I had, I was reminded by my snorkeling instructor, Kara the Kiwi, there were over 600 shark species, and only a few were dangerous. They wouldn't bother a fat man in a black wetsuit with yellow flappers. Or were they fins? Anyway, most of them were shy like Ralph Wiggum of The Simpsons. ("I’m bembarassed for you.") As I sprayed my diving mask with de-fogger, I imagined a Ralph Wiggum shark, all yellow, and shy, and speaking to me out in the reef, "Hey! Are you lunch? I ate too much plastic candy this week so I need to be sure you're lunch." Oh, shy Ralph was nothing to fear. He was more scared of me, than I would be of him. Anyway, I came from the desert in Arizona to Australia just to swim in the Great Barrier. I could swim. I swam on the high school swim team (over 20 years ago). I won 3rd in the Colorado State swim meet in breaststroke three years in a row. Yes! I could swim.

"Regulate your breathing. Stay calm. People can drown in a cup of water if you don't regulate your breathing," Kara instructed before the other swimmers suited up for the swim.

No worries. I could swim. I had a pool in my backyard.

"If you see a shark, here are a few suggestions," Kara the Kiwi instructed, but I was chatty. I wanted to impress the blonde snorkeler with the muscles. I wanted to make friends. Yet, there she was, instructing. "If you are below it, blah-blah-blah. If you swim with it -- blah-blah-blah." Oh, hey, that blonde guy has a really cool tattoo. I bet he can bench at least two-fifty. "And if the shark is below you at a lower depth-- blah-blah-blah." I wish I was as muscular as the cool tattoo guy. "But don't worry. Sharks don't eat people. They just bite." She had a great accent but I didn't listen to the content of what she said. "Finally, never swim alone." Golly, is she done yet? "Hey, Kirt, do you want your purple noodle?" Kara the Kiwi asked me before I jumped into the frigid ocean.

She had to remind me. The day before I went snorkeling, and I almost drowned. Yes, me. The swimmer. Almost drowned. So Kara the Kiwi gave me a purple noodle to swim with in the Great Barrier Reef. I looked like a seal who barely survived Fukushima complete with extra limbs. The purple noodle did help me float, but yesterday the waves were higher, and today was today.

"Yes. Give me that purple noodle," I quickly responded like the chicken I was. I needed my purple noodle like Linus needed his blanket. Was accepting the noodle a point of failure? Being a self-reflective teacher I thought about this as I fought the waves and explored the colorful reef.

Two hours swimming in the reef, with clown fish,  parrot fish, eels, and exploring every color of coral under the rainbow, and I was feeling like the man from Atlantis. My wetsuit kept me warm, and my purple noodle kept me afloat. And the Jaws soundtrack stopped playing underneath my concentrated breathing.

I looked up from under the water, and the small yacht we chartered anchored fifty, or maybe seventy yards away from me, bobbing up and down with the waves. I could do this. I put my head back under the sea and swam, and hummed Little Mermaid songs. I floated over a giant mallusk, and my shadow caused it to close. I was surprised how it slammed shut, but by now I was comfortable in this great blue--.

Was that a shadow in my goggles? What was behind me?

Slowly I flapped my fins, and rotated clockwise, noodle and all. Turning right. Over the orange and black clown fish. Turning right a few more degrees. Back over the mollusk, there, staring right at me was a six-foot long Great Barrier Reef White Tip shark, and he came right at me. I could hear Kara the Kiwi's voice in my head, "Stay calm. Regulate your breathing." Stay calm!? The shark headed right for me. Calm? Breath? It saw me. It torpedoed at me. It came fast. Was it me? Did I look tasty? Was it my purple noodle? Please, don't eat me! He was not acting like shy Ralph. He zoomed right at my face. Oh, no you don't, Ralphie!

I punched it. I think I punched it. I must have. It turned. The shark looked about as stunned as I did as it spiraled down to swim at a lower depth with the mollusk. I actually hit the shark. And now it swam below me at a lower depth. Under me? Was that the safer spot or the danger spot? I failed to listen to Kara. I'd been paying more attention to the waves, my slippers, and blonde tattooed muscle hunk. Failure to listen might get me eaten, so I swam. I kicked. I pulled. I reached. I acted like I was back in high school swimming for my life in the freestyle 250 meter race. I swam for gold. Looking down under the sea, there, right with me, was Mr. Shark. He kept up, of course, but I worked every muscle and every bit of fat I had to get me back to the boat.

When I reached the yacht, Kara the Kiwi stood at the back of the boat on the submerged dock, and helped me sit on safety. She took my purple noodle (yes, I still had it). She pulled me up, and I ripped off my snorkeling mask. I tried to catch my breath. I was in a state of panic. Breath. She said, "You okay? You know I gave you some suggestions, like don't swim alone, but... You look like you're--"

"A shark! I punched a shark!" I exclaimed between breaths. I didn't want to make any of the other divers panic, but there was a shark and they should know it. And I couldn't get enough air to make my voice cooperate and announce that THERE WAS A SHARK IN THE OCEAN.

"Oh, you did?" Kara the Kiwi whispered with her gorgeous accent.
I nodded.
"Let's go see it."
What?
"I'm a marine biologist. DOCTOR Kara, remember?"
I didn't.
"I'd like to see this shark you punched. Not all sharks are dangerous, remember?"
I didn't.
She put on her goggles, and she jumped in. I put on my goggles, grabbed my purple noodle, and jumped back into the cold South Pacific. She looked at me disappointedly. Fine. I gave my security floatie to another swimmer on the dock, and Doctor Kara and I swam out to where I punched Ralphie the shark.

Keeping my eyes peeled for any grey torpedos, I led the way back to the giant mollusk. A little below the mollask, along the bottom of the reef, was Ralph, my shark. He didn't look too mad from my assault. I pointed to Ralph for Dr. Kara to see. She gestured for us to rise to the surface.

At the surface of the water, she spoke calmly, but with strength. At least she wasn't out of breath.
"Kirt. We need to get out of the water, now. This is one of the most aggressive shark species we have in this part of the reef. You start back, and I will be right behind you."

As if the swimming start gun went off, I swam for first place back to the boat. I kept thinking about my fears and my failures. Failure, or the lack of a desirable quality, presents invaluable learning and growth opportunities, but scholarly analysis of such are far less common. To extract such learnings, we need to analyze not only the failed result, but also the failed process itself. Often sharing our personal stories is to understand and explore the gap between dreams and abilities. Most failures cluster around three concepts: preventable, complex, and intellectual failures. Preventable failures consist of not having the knowledge and ability to avoid an outcome through a process-oriented methodology or routine operation and/or proper training. Complex failures occur where there’s not enough volatility or complexity in the environment that allows things to just happen beyond the collaborators’ control. Complex failures result when there is a combination of internal and external factors that come together in a way to produce insolvency. The last type of failure is intellectual failure or those failures which transpire when experimentation is essential, and this failure is often called "failing forward". We "fail forward" when answers are not knowable in advance because the exact situation hasn’t occurred before, and perhaps never will occur again, and we fail with an effort to learn. Amy Edmondson, a professor in leadership and management at Harvard Business School, claims we should tell everybody about our intellectual failures, because others will likely repeat the exact same mistakes, which makes organizations, and individuals, increasingly inefficient over time. 

Was this a preventable failure? Yes. I could have paid attention to the instructions Kara the Kiwi-- I mean, Dr. Kara gave. I could have been honest with my abilities and practiced snorkeling before I came to the reef. My arrogance or ego failure blocked me from being honest with my own lack of training. The complex failure came from the weather and the high waves, and I couldn't plan for those elements, but I shouldn't have been swimming alone. The greatest failure was a lesson and I fell forward by facing my fear and taking on the one thing that I never wanted to see. Listening to instructions should be easy, and was a preventable failure. I didn't think what Dr. Kara taught didn't apply to me, at least until it did. Most of failure can be avoided if we plan well, work on our knowledge, and design a process for answering the points of failure. Most of the time when I fail, I am the reason for my failure. I was in my own way. Even though I claimed I failed in this story, I actually don't view it as a failure. I took risk. I dove in. I struggled through. And I fought the good fight. Learning is about process, uncomfortable sometimes, and not so much about the a product.