I already failed my NaNoWriMo. That statement is, of course, excluding the fact that the official winning condition of NaNoWriMo is writing 50 thousands words before the end of November, or the point that NaNoWriMo is a motivational challenge and therefore you can’t really “fail” it, but for one of the official achievements that I aimed for – updating word counts at least once a day – I failed that.
I would be lying to say I have no shame in that, but to say that I feel shameful is not entirely true either. Rules to me seem to be made to be broken, when my instincts use the nature of a chaotic, unpredictable universe as my response to any attempt of law and order of things. In this particular case, my ear-pressure induced headache interrupting my NaNoWriMo update streak.
It is moot to argue which inspired which – the headache interrupting my updates, or the combined stress of work and NaNoWriMo causing this headache, which subsequently interrupted my updates. Our current general consensus sympathises this “failure” better if it was caused by a broken leg, but not a single contemplation is given if it was caused by a scattered brain. Whether the reason was the former or the latter, I failed and I honestly don’t feel bad about it.
However, I like to think that my second week of NaNoWriMo – which I have already failed according to my own rebel rules – is a time to be inspired by my failure and start to contemplate what really matters to me, and what it all really means. A long trail has followed behind me in the path of self discovery, on finding out what I really want in my life. To admit that I really don’t feel bad about failing NaNoWriMo is part of my long-buried self-honesty talking from the deep. Admitting that to myself is a signal, a step towards uncovering a real me that is waxed within years worth of cynicism, fear, doubts and false expectations.
So be the failure, but to learn from it, leads to the path of something greater, and I look forward to walking along this path for the rest of November.