The F Bomb: Fear of Failure
Fear of Failure
And COMBATING it through setting expectations
Photo courtesy of the amazing Morgaana Sings!
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As Westminster approaches, and we enter the home stretch of what, for Riley and I, has been a year long journey, I’ve been thinking a lot about failure and what that means to me. In many ways, I’m so lucky to have had Ri as my first dog, first Agility dog, and first competitive teammate. He’s taught me a ton, and been so incredibly patient with me, but his true legacy will be teaching me about myself. You see, Riley is my mirror, no, he’s my amplifier. When I am calm, focused, present, “in the zone”, we are unstoppable. He flies around the course, nails his sends and skills, and we hit this amazing space where I feel like I can anticipate his every move and react perfectly. It’s truly a thrill running with him like that, and I leave the ring exhilarated. When I am nervous, unfocused, lackadaisical, or just not present, Ri is clingy, unsure, twitchy, and often slow. Those runs are such a let down for me. They can feel like pulling teeth, like my dog doesn’t want to participate, and the switch from amazing and connected to unsure and twitchy can happen on a run to run basis, which makes that failure feel all the worse.
It took me a long time in my journey to realize the connection between Riley’s performance and my mental state. I looked at our training; I looked at environmental stress; I looked at physical pain; I looked everywhere except at myself. Now that I know the degree to which our performance is connected to my mentality, I’ve spent a lot of time reading, listening to podcasts, and talking to professionals about mental management, and finding ways to bring out my focus. I’ve come to realize that I have a strong fear of failure, and for me, this is largely linked to my goal setting process. I can say every positive mantra (failure is a learning opportunity, you have to fail to succeed, etc.), but at the end of the day, if I haven’t set my expectations realistically for each run, I will feel like I failed.
Going into a trial weekend, my thought process often looked something like this: “We’re going to go out there and be AMAZING! We’re just going to totally crush it and I’ll be so happy!”. Do I even know what “AMAZING” looks like, let alone whether it’s achievable? Am I holding us up to other people’s definitions of success because I have some nebulous image of what “great” looks like based on selected Facebook / YouTube videos? Is the idea of AMAZING actually linked to our performance, or to our results? And if to our results, why am I tying my own happiness to something that is beyond our control, something I can’t train for?
If I look back over this past year, at more than 60 days of trialing with a 75% Q rate (many of those first places), at the big events we competed at, and the local trials, and if I really ask myself “When did I feel successful"?” there’s one trial that stands out to me; the Mid-Atlantic Regional in April. This was our first Regional event ever, and we didn’t make any podiums, in fact I had to go back and look up our results, because honestly I don’t remember them. What I do remember is the feeling. Ri and I hit that agility high over 3 full days of competition. Each run was faster and more connected than the last. Each run I walked away from the ring grinning like a fool and inspired that we can achieve anything. And when I look back at my goal setting for that event, I realize that that was the first time I actively set my expectations, and re-iterated those expectations for weeks leading up to the event. The Regionals was a USDAA event, and my ultimate goal for the year was AKC based, so I told myself this event was just a fun break; it didn’t “count for anything”, we were going to go out there and run fast and push ourselves, we were going to take big risks, and I wanted every run to feel connected. And you know what? We did! And while I didn’t get to stand on any boxes, or walk away with $50 in winnings to go spend at the Paco collars booth, I walked away with something much more important: a better understanding of myself and my dog, and a memory that isn’t tainted by any feelings of failure as a result of my unrealistic expectations.