My resume of failures

 I read an extraordinary story; it turns out that Johannes Aushofer, an adjunct professor of psychology and public affairs at Princeton University, had the brilliant idea of writing his academic curriculum. But not with the achievements he had in his life, but on the contrary, with each of his failures. A reverse curriculum.

For example, he includes a section called "Graduate Programs I Was Not Admitted To," another "Academic Positions and Scholarships Not Awarded to Me," "Articles Rejected by Scientific Journals," and so on. Mr. Johannes says in the introduction to his curriculum, "Most of the things I try fail, but these failures are often invisible, while my successes are visible. I have noticed that this sometimes gives the impression that everything I do turns out well. As a result, others tend to blame themselves for all their failures, without considering the fact that the world mainly operates based on chance, the positions we have applied for may be fixed in advance, or the journal selection committees may have had a bad day when they received my article. This curriculum of failures is an attempt to balance the other curriculum and put some things into perspective."

As I said, it seemed like an incredible idea, one of those that I fall in love with at first sight. So, without further delay, I set out to create my own curriculum of failures, and I will attach a copy to my pompous Curriculum Vitae, which is a kind of showcase of diplomas and awards. Anyway, here I go:

When I wasn't accepted to university

It was my first failure. In 1973, when I took the Academic Aptitude Test, I was convinced I was a damn prodigy. I always believed I was smarter than others and confidently applied to the most challenging major at the most selective university in Chile: I marked Electronic Civil Engineering at the Federico Santa María Technical University. I then happily waited to be welcomed with open arms. Obviously, I wasn't selected. If I had been a little less arrogant, I would have also applied - just in case - to Electronic Execution Engineering at the University of the North, where I would have easily entered with the same score.

I found my 1973 Academic Aptitude Test scores among old papers: 772 points in the verbal test, 672 points in the math test. Top scores started at around 770 in those years; obviously, math was not my strong suit, but I still avoided becoming a damn lawyer. But well, it was a brutal lesson in humility. It hurt, but I never forgot it.

It was a stroke of luck. If I had been selected at Santa María, I wouldn't have lasted a semester. In those years, calculators didn't exist yet, only true geniuses could be engineers, and unfortunately, that wasn't my case; I was just a smart aleck. The other thing I learned from that failure is that there is always a second best. When one fails at something big, they can try the same thing on a smaller scale. That's how I studied to become an Electronic Technician at Incap, where I still obtained a nice diploma with the towers and cows. It wasn't an engineering degree, but something is better than nothing, as the saying goes.

When I failed my first course

In university, I had gotten used to thinking of myself as the best student in every subject. I don't think anyone ever finished a test faster than I did, never. I was very fast, and even though I didn't get extraordinary grades, it gave me a certain reputation for being clever. In the second semester of my second year at university, I failed my first course. It was Systems Analysis, a course that I eventually ended up teaching, but when I studied it, I found it stupid and boring. Without realizing it, I reached the final exam, and I failed! That was the second big blow to my ego. Some of my friends who thought I was "smart" finished the degree without failing a single course. As far as I remember, I failed three: in addition to the mentioned one, I failed Electronics II and one of the Labs (due to absenteeism). Of course, at that time, I was already working and studying at the same time. It was still a tremendous frustration not to have completed the degree in the minimum time.

When I was fired from my first job

When I worked at Importadora California in the Iquique Free Zone, I had my moment of fame. I arrived as a poor devil who weighed less than the lady who did the cleaning; they made jokes because I sweated a lot and didn't use deodorant (I couldn't afford it), etc. But soon I became the right-hand man of the owner and the manager, thanks to two key skills: I knew how to program computers, and I knew English. A third skill appeared almost spontaneously: the Japanese from Casio became very friendly with me and preferred to work with me rather than with my bosses. Overnight, success smiled at me; they gave me my own office, and they even invited me to Tokyo, where I formed many friendships and was already a micro-celebrity at Casio. What happened? Success got to my head; I thought I was indispensable and that without me, the company couldn't function. So, I became unbearable; I went to work when I wanted - almost never - and abused Gabriel Abusleme's patience, who was my boss, until he sent me to hell: "either you work like everyone else, or you leave." Obviously, I left indignant. Principles are not negotiable.

The real failure wasn't when I was fired but when Zvi Posner, the owner of the company, didn't rush to my house to beg me to come back. The truth was that he regretted my departure, but he told me, "I'm sorry, Tomás, but Gabriel is the manager, it was his decision, so good luck; you're very skilled, but you still have a long way to go to be intelligent." As he liked me, he still helped me by passing me merchandise to smuggle into Peru, but over time, I could see with amazement that the company didn't collapse without my brilliant contribution. That was my real failure, a blow so hard that I still haven't recovered from it.

When the Academy preferred to do without my services

In those years, I was good friends with the dean of the Faculty of Administration and Economics at the university, and he got me a job as a contract professor to teach Systems Analysis. It was my debut and farewell because I never really fit into the university ecosystem. Until today, I feel like a strange bird when I go to take exams or in the several other years when I have been a part-time professor. I don't think they appreciate or take me very seriously, except for a tiny group of two or three friends. For the rest, I'm a weird bird, or at least that's how I feel. Thinking about it, maybe it's not so much a failure, and I would be a failure if I were like them. Anyway, my egotism suffered a considerable dent from that experience.

When I went bankrupt as an entrepreneur

In the late eighties, my millionaire cousin appeared and gave me money to open my own business while also making me the manager of Soc. Comercial San José in the Iquique Free Zone. So, I thought I couldn't fail. My cousin assured me that I could become a millionaire without lifting a finger. I believed it; it was all about buying cheap and selling high, what could be easier than that? The failure was horrendous, not only for me but also for my employees who depended on me. Few times have I been in such an anguishing and desperate situation as when a mountain of debts arrived, and I had no way to pay them. A good part of my aversion to work comes from that horrible experience.

When I wrote many papers that I never finished

When they published my first indexed article in the Ingeniare magazine, I thought it would be a piece of cake to dedicate myself to that. I am good at researching and even better at writing, so I talked to some friends and thought we could start a paper factory, with which I would become famous first and then rich. But self-criticism killed me. When I started writing and read it, I realized that the matter didn't contribute anything, that the methodology was questionable - since then, I have this kind of phobia towards inferential statistics and econometric methods - I thought that if they published that garbage, I would end up ashamed of myself. That's how I left a bunch of articles unfinished, and it wasn't until I joined forces with Mr. Ian Thomson that I found something that seemed moderately relevant. But my dreamed paper factory remained just that: dreams, unfortunately.

There must be many more failures; these are just the ones that come to mind at the moment, and the list is already getting too long. There are many areas where I think I can be very good, but no one has come knocking on my door, asking me to do them. "If God wants to give me, He knows where I live" is my battle cry; I am more of a fisherman than a hunter.

But thinking about it, there are things about my failures that make me proud: I have learned something from each one, learned about who I am and who I am not, especially as far as my arm can reach. I am less arrogant than before thanks to my failures; many have been invaluable lessons in humility. I have learned from slaps, but blows teach quickly. What I am most proud of is that despite failing so much and in so many things, I don't feel like a loser, as many of my friends do at the first setback. I have always stood up again and somehow managed to tell frustration to go to hell. I make Mao's wonderful paragraph my own:

"To fight, to fail, to fight again, to fail again, to fight again and fail again, and so on until victory."

(Dismissing illusions, preparing for the struggle, August 14, 1949)