Imagine a warm summer Sunday morning. Sunshine pours through the open windows, the sycamore leaves rustle in a gentle breeze, and blue jays wage a territory war in the pines. Everything is perfect and relaxing, and I’m full of kindness, patience, and generosity as a wife, mother, and friend. My energy level is high, so I risk it. My toes touch the cool of the wood floor. I stand, stretch, and get out of bed. I have good intentions. I will maintain my kindness, patience, and generosity until I’ve finished my first cup of coffee.

Jim and D left at 5:45 am for a morning of fishing. No phone calls. No texts. I head downstairs to the coffee machine. The kitchen is all mine. The other teenager is an unconscious lump in her bed upstairs. She won’t be down for a couple of hours because it’s only 8:00 am.

The luxury of taking our time, we can all agree, is one of the joys of a summer morning. I drop a filter in and scoop up the freshly ground coffee and crumble in some cardamom. There’s no hurry. While the coffee starts making those happy perks and gurgles, I slice cantaloupe. There are still a couple of muffins left from yesterday.

I’m pouring the coffee when I hear the car doors slam. Adrenaline kicks in. I rush over to move my fruit and muffins from the counter to the safety of the kitchen table.

“Mom! Mom!” The side door slams shut, reverberating through the house. “Mom! Where are you?”

This entrance is classic D. “Bud, I’m right here.” I wave from the table.

D slouches the fish bucket down on the linoleum. “Come here right now. See what I caught.”

My hands are wrapped around my mug. “Let me eat my breakfast first.”

“No! Come now. While it’s still alive.” He bends and reaches into the bucket.

“Hold it! I’m coming.” I set the mug down. The steam drifts up, highlighted in a sunbeam. I nibble a bit of muffin. “Who do you have in the bucket?” I lean over and see a nice sized bass.

D’s eyes sparkle with delight. “Want to come outside and watch me kill it?”

I pull on my ear, scratch my head, and pretend to think it over. “No thanks. Not before I finish my breakfast.”

Like many people trapped inside during the early days of the pandemic, faced with seeing my belongings day after day, I started watching Tidying Up with Marie Kondo to learn how to effectively cull the overwhelming amount of stuff I seemed to have accrued in adulthood. In the show, Kondo presents tidying as an intentional act that allows the tidier to express gratitude for the things that they decide to keep and let go of the items that no longer serve them. Specifically, she encourages users of the KonMari method to consider whether or not an item “sparks joy” for them.

If you are skeptical, as I was, you might already be inwardly groaning, but I can’t deny the fact that her philosophy does have the potential to cause a paradigm shift in the way we think about our possessions. It generally takes participants a while to accept this mindset, but once they do, the results can be astounding.

However, Kondo’s method does sometimes evoke resistance. In one episode, a woman hesitates to donate a shirt because she feels guilty that she hasn't worn it yet. Initially, she cannot abandon the idea of a potential future moment in which she might want to wear the shirt. But Kondo deftly reframes the situation for her, telling her that she can still express gratitude for the shirt, because it taught her that she didn’t like to wear shirts like that. This advice deeply resonated with me– it occurred to me that Kondo’s words applied far beyond the contents of my closet.

In fact, there have been so many times when I invested far more than I should have– my time, my energy, my work, and even my affection– in projects and people that just didn’t “fit” me, though I wasn’t willing to admit that to myself until much later. And, like the participant in Kondo’s show, I was racked with guilt over my own inability to just let it go. I felt like if I started something, I had to finish it, regardless of the personal cost– because otherwise, I would have failed, and if there’s anything a formerly gifted child, who later turned into an anxious perfectionist, can tell you, it is that I have a very difficult time processing failure. In fact, I will go to great lengths to avoid even the inklings of failure.

But Kondo’s words gave me a new angle that I had not considered before. Maybe, instead of facing these situations as a loss or a failure, I could shift my perception; maybe, with practice, I could learn how to be grateful for the opportunity to learn what does not work for me.

I have been thinking a lot about this lately as I enter my second semester in my new position as a humanities instructor at a community college. Prior to this position, I had spent the better part of a decade teaching at a private research university, followed by a private small liberal arts college. Although I felt like I had learned how to be a good teacher during that time, nothing in my previous teaching experiences could have quite prepared me for the first semester of teaching at an open-access community college. Don’t get me wrong, I love my work now, but there was a steep learning curve for me last semester. Many of the lesson plans that I had lovingly crafted and revised for my composition courses over the years no longer worked the way I had anticipated–but I was hesitant to let them go, because part of me felt like I had already invested so much in them, and if they weren’t working, it was my fault. It took me months (and, I’ll admit, many frustrated conversations with colleagues, several dozen bars of chocolate, and a few tears) to realign my perception. It wasn’t necessarily that my lesson plans were inherently bad, they just didn’t work anymore for my new students. And that was okay; to borrow from Kondo, I could feel gratitude for the fact that they had served a purpose in the past, and then let them go to make room for new ideas and lesson plans.

I recently provided some professional learning at a nearby school district about social emotional learning, and I realized how profoundly connected our thinking about failure is with our ability to be self aware.

What is Self-Awareness?

Self-awareness is the ability to observe and reflect on our own thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. It allows us to understand why we feel and act the way we do, and make changes to improve ourselves. Self-awareness can be divided into two types: internal self-awareness and external self-awareness.

Internal self-awareness refers to the ability to understand our own thoughts, emotions, and motivations. This includes recognizing what triggers our emotions and why we behave in certain ways. For example, if you have internal self-awareness, you may recognize that you become anxious when you are faced with…say…snakes. (Autobiographical admission!)

External self-awareness refers to the ability to understand how others perceive us. This includes recognizing the impact our behavior has on others and how they react to us. For example, if you have external self-awareness, you may recognize that others are intimidated by your assertiveness.

Why is Self-Awareness Important?

Self-awareness is important for several reasons. Firstly, it helps us understand our strengths and weaknesses, and how we can improve ourselves. By understanding our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors, we can make changes that help us live happier and more fulfilling lives. For example, if you have a tendency to become anxious in certain situations, you can develop strategies to manage this anxiety.

Secondly, self-awareness helps us understand how we are perceived by others. This can be especially important in professional and social situations. By understanding how others perceive us, we can make changes to improve our relationships and communication. For example, if you have a tendency to be confrontational, you can work on developing a more collaborative style.

Self-awareness is also a key component of emotional intelligence. Emotional intelligence refers to the ability to recognize and manage our own emotions, as well as understand and influence the emotions of others. People with high emotional intelligence are better able to manage stress, build strong relationships, and achieve their goals.

What Does Self-Awareness Have to do with Failure?

Everything. Failure hurts us because we allow it to shade our self-awareness. We are so consumed with the story that we create about ourselves post-failure that we are no longer objectively engaged in the work of staying connected to what is real.

Immediately after my divorce it was almost impossible for me to be present with my kids. I was thinking of how hurt and angry I was that the world would treat me this way. I wished someone would just explain to me why I was dealt this hand…etc.

What I didn’t do, and what I didn’t have the tools to do at the time, was step back and mindfully engage in what I was feeling. I reacted the way society, my experience, and my emotions wanted me to. I was consumed by them.

Over time, and with a lot of practice, I came to see that I was not sad to be divorced. I was upset with the affair that led to the divorce. I was frustrated with my own willingness to allow someone else to control my life. I was terrified at how profoundly powerful my own self-denial had become. I was scared that I would be alone forever. But…I was never actually angry about divorce.

Had I been more self aware, I might have also realized that the main reason for my divorce was my kids. I wanted them to have a model of a parent who didn’t get walked on and treated poorly. I wanted them to stand up for themselves when things got tough. I wanted them to know that no matter what life throws at you, you can get through it.

If I had stayed in the marriage, my kids would never have seen those things. They would have seen a version of me that I’m not proud of.

But in those first few months I couldn’t see that, and I ended up wallowing in sorrow, feeling like everything was awful, and thinking I had failed. And I lost months of time with my kids.

The moral of the story is that when failure strikes we should lean into it, seeking to use it to become more understanding of who we are. The alternative, letting it consume us and define us, is costly and unproductive.

As a kid, one of the most dreaded phrases of all was, “let’s go for a ride.” My mom would be all chipper, excited almost - this was a form of entertainment when you didn’t have money. This was an adventure before cell phones, navigation, weather apps, heck it was before mapquest. “Let’s go for a ride” was getting in the car and seeing where it takes you, what was down this unknown road or unfamiliar turn. For me, there was no worse way to spend my afternoon than to “go for a ride.”

Where are we going? For how long? Do you know the way? What if we get lost, break down, run out of gas… and why are we going, is there something to see? These were the questions running through my mind as my pulse raced, questions I had stopped asking as there were no solid answers. Answers that were concrete, dependable, and predictable. Answers that provided parameters and for me, answers that meant safety.

I packed my books, my escape within myself. Books allowed me to get lost with characters in a storyline, a plot that had purpose leading to a conclusion. Adventures that allowed my mind to visualize places from the words on the page, and if the characters got lost, it was meant to be part of the story that would be resolved before the last page; it was predictable, safe, and therein was my solace.

A few years back, deep in the clutches of the recession, I started writing intentions on New Year’s Day. This may not seem like a big deal to some people, but for me this was a major step. I am not a superstitious, religious or spiritual person. I am cynical, analytical and generally pragmatic. But even I realized that the pandemic was a time to embrace change and try new things. Also, if we are being honest, I had time on my hands.

So on January 1, 2020, I wrote my very first set of intentions on a piece of yellow legal pad paper and posted them on the refrigerator, visible to all who entered my 800 square-foot apartment.

What surprised me the most, one year later, was that I had actually achieved most–though, not all–of my intentions. I had internalized my goals and unconsciously made steps to achieve them. I think this happened for a couple of reasons:

I wrote my intentions down. If you write them down, they are more likely to come true. It sounds mystical and gross…but it’s true. I have no idea if this is based in any science, but I know that for me it has worked.

I posted my intentions in a place where I would see them regularly. This was more a function of a lack of space at first, but I found that if I keep my intentions in a conspicuous location, I internalize them and make decisions that help me achieve them.

I based my intentions on character traits that are important to me. I have taken many character trait tests (Check out VIA) over the years and I know what traits are more important to me. Creativity, Innovation, Security, etc. are all part of who I am, so I felt like I should use those to help me design intentions that maximize those aspects of who I am.

Now every January 1st, I make myself a cup of coffee, find a quiet place and write new intentions. This year I wrote 7, but the number of intentions is never important to me. Typically I shoot for 7-10. This year, I will put them on my newly renovated office wall, where I will see them every time we record an episode or I sit down to write a blog. With any luck, this time next year, I will be celebrating the successful completion of these.

Nick’s 2023 Intentions

Play guitar at least 3 times every week. (Creativity)

Learn one Christmas song on the piano. (Learning/Creativity)

Continue building Toasted’s online presence by recording weekly (52 new episodes, 25 blogs, 25 Toasted Tuesday Talks) and exploring new advertising ideas. (Creativity/Learning)

Spend one hour each week building Nicholas Fargnoli Consulting (Security/Creativity/Learning)

Save 50% of my current balance in my emergency fund. (Security)

Pay off all credit card balances. (Security)

Double my “closing cost” savings for a house. (Security)

I’m sharing all of this because the practice of writing intentions has definitely been helpful in maintaining focus throughout the year. Lots of things happen, and sometimes I do not achieve my intention, but having a list of what is most important to me has been instrumental in my own ability to make it through some pretty tricky times. I hope you’ll consider giving it a shot this year. Cheers!