Failure. It is an inevitable element of the human experience. To many, including my previously naive self, failure signifies weakness, a lack of confidence and even worse, an inability to be perfect. I always suppressed my weaknesses and told myself admittance to failure meant defeat. While I challenged myself, I never accepted anything less than perfection. I viewed even small failures as dents in my character.

The more dented I became, I thought, the less opportunities I had. Thus, I could not afford any dents. In high school, I took on the new challenge of the International Baccalaureate program with excitement and fear, understanding its implications. It was going to be impossible to be perfect at everything. Despite this supposed realization, I could not let go of my mindset. That is, until the day I fell off a utility pole.

On this fateful day, I traveled with my fellow anticipated IB diploma candidates to a retreat center for a day of bonding. We trekked outdoors and gathered around a utility pole. The leader glanced at us. We glanced at each other. I saw the rungs protruding out of the splintery wood, the harnesses lined up, and the wire hooked in place.

They wanted us to climb the utility pole and jump off. I did not feel so comfortable anymore. "This is the hardest thing you will ever do," the leader remarked. "No IB class you take will ever be more difficult than this." I was scared but skeptical. Sure, it looks scary, I thought, but he does not understand how challenging IB is. Sleepless nights are worse than jumping off a pole.

Or so I thought. I watched friend after friend harness up and take the first step. Some cried, some screamed, some were void of emotion. Some refused to participate. I wanted to refuse. My mind was informing me of all the possible mishaps. I knew I might not have a perfect experience. In that moment, though, something clicked. I would never know the outcome if I refused. I took the risk.

Regret seeped into my veins the moment I stepped from the first rung to the second. I was farther from the ground, farther from my comfort zone. When I got to the last rung, I froze. The next step required perfect balance to transition to the slim pole top, and balance has never been a strength of mine. Failure was staring me right in the face, and this time, I could not run.

I was on the verge of crying, but I was too scared to feel embarrassed. "You can do it!" everyone shouted. I stepped as quickly as I could and got to the top. As soon as I got there, I lost my balance and fell. I obsessed over my failure. I was so close to perfection. Then, I realized just that. I was close. I tried.

Rather than scale down the pole, I took the step. Failure must not stop me from taking the risk. My leader was right; climbing the pole was the hardest thing I have ever done because it forced me to express less-than-perfect emotions in an uncomfortable setting. It taught me there is more to life than being perfect.

Failures are inevitable, not definitive, parts of life. They teach and motivate. Falling from the pole taught me failure does not signify the end. It introduces the opportunity for new beginnings.