I’ve been marinating.

I recently went to the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center in my new old hometown of Cincinnati.

I read a couple of Warren Buffet’s letters to shareholders, because I’ve been thinking about him, oddly.

Just so you understand what’s in the mix.

First off, when you think about freedom, and capitalism, and the act of teaching as a political act… it’s not exactly a one-blog-post sort of thing.

But here’s where I’m at:

A lot of people start these businesses (read: online, home-based, internet-driven) for the freedom.

I know I did.

I have been in self-exposed exile from traditional employment for the past 15 years because I 1) hate meetings 2) get weird sitting still under fluorescent lights 3) can be wildly insubordinate.

(There was a reason I really connected with my naughty boy students when I taught alternative high school as a classroom teacher.)

Anyhoo.

I’m in reflective mode, looking back at the year and considering what’s on the docket for next year. And here’s what’s come up:

I had a couple projects MASSIVELY fail on me, despite best efforts.

I had a couple unexpected expenses that ate into my operating cushion.

Due to some accounting and legal shifts in how the business is set up, I ended up paying a ridiculous – and unforeseen — amount of taxes for 2013, and paying myself less than I paid myself last year.

I took a risk on a new investment in my business, and it’s not clear that I’ll make a return.

There’s an expression I learned last year, at my best friend’s birthday party. I was talking to a guy in the oil industry, who runs a firm with 40 engineers. We were talking shop. And he said, “it’s like they say, cash flow is king.”

I’d never heard that before.

But after the year I’ve had, I get it.

So I’ve been thinking a lot about what it is to fail.

And why I, along with so many others, have been so reluctant to experience it.

Now, before you go thinking that I’m all Zen about it, let me admit that, when I found out that I was being charged for hotel rooms that didn’t get filled for one of my live workshops earlier in the year, I raged. I screamed. And I got so very, unattractively angry.

But I’m committed to feeling what I feel.

So I felt angry.

I felt disappointed.

I felt regret.

And then? I got on with it.

After my emotional storm cloud had passed, I asked myself, “okay, so what have you learned from this?”

I learned to read contracts.

I learned that everything is negotiable.

Not as some glib saying, either. It’s now stitched into the fabric of my habits, my being.

Here’s the thing about failing that I learned this year: it’s actually more valuable than success.

I know that sounds odd.

I’m actually a bit surprised to say it, myself.

I used to not do things unless I *knew* how they were going to turn out.

But that got boring.

And, as a lover of freedom, I started to feel kinda trapped.

Now… failing is another story.

Failing causes you to pay attention.

Failing stings.

Failing says, “hey, you! Over here. Look into this.”

And if you do, and can manage to stop beating yourself up, it’s an incredible teacher.

What I got this year is that failure is fuel.

Which has been incredible healing and worth every penny I’ve spent to get here.

Some lessons can only be learned through experience.

Even if that experience doesn’t go the way I wanted it to.

My dad jokingly refers to speeding tickets as “civics lessons.”

I am coming to see my projects and investments that didn’t work out as “business lessons.”

We’re talking tens of thousands of dollars.

But you know what?

It’s only money.

I like money.

But I love learning, people, and my freedom more.

And I know two things in my bones:

One, when you run your own business, you can always make more money.

And two, I could not have learned what I know now without taking those risks.

You want to know how I know my failure is a luxury I can no longer live without?

That’s not how I thought about things 6 years ago, when I was working two jobs and making $17 an hour.

So, thank you, Failure.

Thank you for teaching me these priceless lessons.

Thank you for shoring up my trust in myself and my own process.

Thank you for reminding me that creativity, grit and emotional flexibility is power.

I’m sorry that so many people cross to the other side of the street when they see you coming.

Instead of setting you a place at their kitchen table, and listening to your stories and your lessons.

You are always welcome in our house.

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December 2014 Issue