I am an ambitious person. I'm always on the verge of starting some new project or another. When I bought my first guitar four years ago, I dreamed of one day wowing my roommates with angelic melodies coming from the living room (a dream that I have accomplished, if you replace the word "wowing" with the word "horrifying"). Similarly, not two weeks after starting my first ever Spanish class, I went to a Spanish-speaking restaurant and tried to order in Spanish. Of course, I ended up realizing I was in way over my head when it occurred to me that, at the time, I had a vocabulary of about fifty words

Despite both of these things being less-than-stellar examples of personal success, they actually represent a huge step forward for me because of one thing: I'm willing to fail. This was not the case prior to starting college. As the world's greatest amateur perfectionist, I struggled most of my life with an inability to stick with anything that I wasn't immediately good at. My parents had me in and out of music lessons, karate, sports, and youth groups throughout most of my childhood, and I would invariably quit because I came up against something challenging.

That changed in college. My very first class was called "Logic and Argumentation" and was taught by a slightly eccentric professor who was on the verge of retirement. We'll call him Dr. H. I came into Dr. H's class one Monday morning after having taken a test the preceding Friday. He handed back our papers, and, when I read mine, I could swear I felt my soul leap out of my body and run screaming for the door. 40 percent. I failed my first ever test in my first class of college. Flipping through the pages and the ocean of red ink, I had to do my best to hold back tears as visions of being kicked out of school bounced around in my head. I saw myself huddled under a bridge somewhere around a barrel fire, cursing myself for my stupidity and bemoaning my miserable existence.

After that class I immediately went to the school library and e-mailed my father. I don't remember the specifics, but I said something along the lines of wanting to withdraw from school and writing a formal letter of apology to the administration for daring to set my unworthy feet within their hallowed hallways. Later that day, my father's response amounted to something similar to "Jesus, kid, take a breath! I promise the world isn't ending!"

It was a difficult day for me, not only because I failed a test, but also because I realized that no good would come from throwing a fit about it. I had two options: stay in class and try to improve my grade, or quit. I knew quitting meant never getting a degree, so, bitterly, I grit my teeth and forced myself to attend class the next day. And the next. I paid more attention, I asked more questions, and I met with the professor in his office. In short, I learned the tools for college success. I ended up with an A in Dr. H's class that semester, and a 4.0 GPA overall.

Once the semester was over, I knew that I would never have had the motivation or grit to get straight A's unless I had been pushed off the edge by that failed exam. For once in my life, something academic was not coming easily to me, and for the first time, I was pushing through it. I found that I enjoyed the feeling of conquering a tough concept or a difficult class. I began to enjoy the risk of not having certainty that I would succeed.

I coined my newfound attitude "The Joy of Failing," and, four years later, I can say that it has served me very well. So well, in fact, that I would recommend it to anybody, because there's a certain kind of satisfaction that only comes from getting in over your head and then figuring it out anyway.

So, I pressed on, and I learned. I became educated in subjects ranging from mathematics to history, chemistry, and writing. At times, I did worse on exams than I would have liked, but I always forced myself to keep going no matter how much internal shame I had to bear. And, at a certain point, all of those uncomfortable ventures into the unknown led to me actually becoming proficient at doing well in unfamiliar territory. "Trying new stuff" is a skill, and like all skills, it must be practiced to develop.

My enjoyment of failure is the reason that I do weird things like go out in town and speak a language I don't really speak with strangers in the supermarket. It's why I'm willing to show a friend a new song I'm working on, even though I know it's painfully unfinished. I have learned to recognize these awkward little missteps as the path to success. Because, eventually, I will speak that language, or play that song perfectly well, and when I do I will be glad for my failures and the lessons they provided along the way.

Now, it's important to recognize that I'm not advocating being reckless. Don't go skydiving without training, or treat your city's speed limit signs like challenges. There's a difference between educational failure and poor decision making. However, by all means, be willing to try new things — especially if they make you uncomfortable. This is the same advice that is echoed across the Internet from Reddit to Facebook to YouTube, but it's repeated so often for a reason. I'm glad I finally decided to listen to it.