How You Respond to Failure Is What Matters

Two days after one of the biggest wins of my life, I bombed in front of thousands.

There I stood on a stage in front of thousands of people, wearing the wrong clothes with the wrong frame of mind. I was headed straight for failure. Two days earlier, people had cheered. That night, I wanted to hide.

A few decades ago, I was a serious trumpet player, working my way up through competitions — local, region, state. The biggest one sent me all the way to Dallas, Texas, for the national finals.

I'd put in the hours. I was ready, but I had no expectation of winning. I was just there to do my best.

Each category announced its "superior" ratings first, then named a winner. When my category came up, I heard my name in the superior group. That was already a surprise.

Then came the winner. "And the winner of this year's competition in the solo instrument category, from California — Michael Smith."

I don't remember much after that. Applause, high fives (did we even do high fives back then?), and I'm pretty sure I heard my mom screaming from the balcony of that old Dallas convention center. I walked up, got handed a trophy, and heard more applause.

That night, I found out I'd perform once more — at the closing session, on the main stage. A solo, plus a group number with the ensemble I'd been touring with all summer. I said yes without thinking twice. I was still riding the high of the win.

A few minutes before the performance, I went backstage for my clothes and the group's uniform. They weren't there. Everyone else's had been cleaned and pressed. Mine had been missed — I found them in a clump on the floor.

What was I supposed to do? The performance started in minutes.

I started blaming people. I pictured myself the only one out of uniform. But there was nothing to be done. I wore what I had on.

I went on first. The stress of those last few minutes showed up the second I started playing. In front of a few thousand people, I bombed. I knew the piece — I'd played it "superior" two days earlier — but that night I couldn't find my place in the music.

It was a failure. Polite applause. No high fives. I wanted to hide, and I went straight back to blaming the clothes.

I still tell myself this story — a true one — because it's the clearest reminder I have that there are a few ways to respond to failure that don't lead to growth:

• Hide

• Blame it on someone else

But better responses would be:

• The last success doesn't guarantee the next.

• Actively learn from it.

• What could I have done differently?

• Where did I need help?

Which one are you doing right now?