My best friend in primary school started a a new hobby every 6 months or so.
She was raised in an intelligent and wealthy family.
Her dad was a bank director, her mum a doctor, both her sister were in good universities and she always had the best grades at school.
Failure was not option for them.
When it turned out that playing guitar was not her thing, it got replaced by a piano.
She’d rather quit something than admitting she failed at it.
I never really understood how I was accepted as her friend.
My parents were in the “lower level” workers class and I was just a mediocre pupil.
I could choose one not expensive hobby, so I started dancing classes.
I really did like it and so badly wanted to be good, but I had simply no rhythm.
I knew the teacher felt bad for putting me in the last row so that I was hardly visible during a dance competition.
I really couldn’t blame her.
During my entire life I have found myself doing things which take a lot of effort, rather than just, for once, taking the easy way.
My initial choice to study at university was “Design”. I knew I had absolutely no spatial ability.
Within one week, I was crying at my teacher’s desk.
Within 2nd week, we made a plan to get me into another education.
So I started Engineering. If my dad hadn’t been so persuasive about it, I’m not sure if I’d succeeded.
I failed at many things.
And with each failure, it became easier and easier to accept.
And in the end things turned out pretty alright for me.
Yesterday, for the first that we have known each other, my boyfriend failed for something.
As far as my indication goes, this might have been his first time in a loooooong time.
He was the kind of person who’d always choose the easier path, things he knew he was good at. And he really is.
He seemed upset, but I didn’t want to lie to him.
“This is going to happen a lot more often and it will always make you feel bad”.
Luckily I did know the remedy.
Home made pizza and many many hugs.