I haven't always been big on January. Thirty-one days in the middle of icy weather with more dark hours than light, January isn’t exactly the most hospitable month for personal growth.
Many years ago, we spent Christmas with family in California. My wife and kids drove down early in our van, while I planned to fly down a few days later.
Then some upheaval came when my car died going to the airport.
Some family wanted to help us find a more reliable set of wheels, and a plan emerged to buy another family member’s larger newer truck and sell our van. So I flew home to apply for a loan at our bank, while my wife drove the new vehicle home.
All went well for our separate journeys home, and my wife fell in love with the truck.
Unfortunately, my bank didn’t feel the same, and refused to finance it given the truck’s mileage and age.
It was now a few days after New Year’s, and I had no option but to drive it back and retrieve our old van. I was horribly embarrassed, and to say it felt like a failure would be an understatement. Adding more stress was that I’d used all my allotted time off and would have to drive there and back on a weekend.
Fortunately, my dad called and volunteered to drive with me. We headed out as the sun went down on a Friday afternoon. There was no traffic as we hit the rural highway with hardly any other drivers in sight.
As dusk passed and the blue night sky hovered, my dad asked all about the challenges I was facing, perhaps knowing there were few others I could talk to. I felt bad about not being wiser about budgets and savings. He offered a sympathetic ear, letting me get it all out. He offered some perspective about his own experiences when a family is just starting out.
He went further and I probed about other so-called failures in life, lost businesses, broken relationships, battles with finances and poor health. He acknowledged how each chapter of life has its regrets, but they don’t have to define us. Then he said something I never forgot.
“A failure can be a gift leading you to accept the future. You can embrace the chance to never let it happen again.”
Not every moment on the trip was filled with words. There were several quiet hours, first of some desperation, then reflection and finally, determination.
We dropped off the truck, got the van and headed back the next morning. Before I knew it, our talk had evolved into planning, healthy goals and not being afraid to fall and be imperfect along the way.
Eventually we got home. He gave me a big hug, got in his own car and headed off. Now 20 years later, and three years after he died, I know I never thanked him for all the wisdom given on that trip, all sparked by a temporary failure.
January is long, but it passes quickly. Don’t let the quiet and somber moments pass without turning them into opportunity.
