Fail Better

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There’s a strange pressure we carry to get it right and to do it quickly.

We celebrate clean wins and polished outcomes, but we rarely talk about the messy middle: the missteps, the restarts, the moments when effort doesn’t lead to clarity. When progress feels clumsy instead of confident, many of us quietly decide it’s a sign we should stop.

But what if that discomfort isn’t a warning at all?
What if it’s evidence that you’re actually doing the work?

That’s why I keep coming back to a line from Samuel Beckett ... not because it’s comforting, but because it’s honest:

“Ever tried. Ever failed.
No matter.
Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

At first, it sounds almost bleak. There’s no applause in it. No promise that the next attempt will finally be the one. And yet, beneath the bluntness is a quiet kind of hope.

Beckett isn’t praising failure. He’s normalizing it.

If you’re trying anything meaningful, learning, leading, creating, loving, you are going to fail. Often. Sometimes loudly. Sometimes in ways that sting longer than you’d like to admit. The real danger isn’t the failure itself. It’s letting that moment convince you that the story is over.

“Fail better” doesn’t mean failing more or caring less. It means learning more.

It looks like paying attention to what didn’t work.
Like adjusting instead of retreating.
Like showing up again with a little more humility and a little less certainty.

Failing better is quieter than success. It doesn’t trend. It doesn’t get celebrated. But it’s where growth actually happens.

We tend to want progress without the bruises. We want confidence without the confusion. But most real growth is forged in repetition: in the trying, the missing, the refining, and staying longer than it feels comfortable.

And maybe the most powerful phrase in that quote isn’t fail at all.

It’s no matter.

No matter how many times it hasn’t worked.
No matter how slow the progress feels.
No matter how heavy the doubt gets.

Try again.
Not because you’re sure.
But because stopping would let one moment define everything that comes next.

Fail again.
Not as defeat.
But as practice.

Fail better.
Because each attempt teaches you something the last one couldn’t.

That’s not resignation. That’s resilience.

And sometimes, staying in the work, imperfect, unfinished, uncertain, is the bravest success there is.

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