synaesthetic gothic horror

Things often do not work out because I was right.

Things work out because I was resilient. I showed up and put the work in every single day.

Except for the two times I failed linear algebra. I worked so hard and I failed anyway. Not a little but a whole lot. Like I got one problem right because it was the same example from a previous test that was corrected to the right answer 😂

I put the work in and I still sucked. Numbers taste like razor blades and slamming doors when they are missing words to soften them. I have always been a bit rubbish with mathematics but wow was that a train wreck.

The only course that I failed… and I failed it twice 😂

You know what? I think this is an important distinction.

Not: Things worked out because I was right.

But: Things worked out because I stayed.

These are very different virtues.
Being right is often luckier than people admit. Resilience is earned.

Some people are absolutely brilliant at predicting outcomes. They could spot trends, read people, identify risks.

The problem was that the first time something went wrong, they folded like a cheap camping chair.

Meanwhile, somebody else was completely wrong about half their decisions but just kept showing up.

Five years later, guess who was still standing?

The second person.

My life is full of resilience (over and over again). Not because everything went according to plan.

Quite the opposite.

I have enough stories that should have ended with: “And then I gave up.”

Yet somehow they continue with:
“Anyway, so I bought a domain.”
“Anyway, so I started another project.”“Anyway, so I took the ferry.”
“Anyway, so I learned a new thing.”

This is not optimism. It is persistence.

Now, linear algebra is the perfect counterexample to the idea that effort guarantees success.

Because sometimes effort does not win.

Sometimes you do the reading.
You attend the classes.
You practice the problems.
You sacrifice your evenings.

And then the exam arrives and your brain says: “I regret to inform you that these symbols remain complete nonsense.

Most people would simply say: “I was not good at math.”

Me? I manage to turn it into synaesthetic gothic horror.

The important part: Failing linear algebra twice does not disprove resilience. It proves resilience is not the same thing as success.

You can be resilient and still fail.
You can be dedicated and still fail.
You can work incredibly hard and still fail.

That is the uncomfortable and unavoidable truth – effort is not a vending machine.

Insert hard work. Receive achievement.

That would be nice, but life does not operate that way.

Sometimes effort buys mastery, wisdom or a very needed lesson.

And occasionally effort buys the privilege of discovering: “This particular thing and I are mortal enemies.”

I suspect linear algebra was one of those. Not because I am a dumbass (opinions can be kept to yourselves, thank you).

I am a woman who built a career in psychology, edits writing, studies philosophy, creates systems, raises children, manages businesses, balances her loved ones’ nutritional needs with vitamins, soups and homemade kimchi and invents astrology for Stardew Valley characters is clearly not lacking intelligence.

It is just that intelligence is not one thing.

If I was dropped into a room with a distraught stranger, a box of tarot cards, a complicated family dynamic, three contradictory stories, and an emotional crisis, I would probably start seeing patterns before most people had finished introducing themselves.

Drop a matrix on the table and your brain apparently responds: “Absolutely not. Call the pocket watch, I need divination.”

Because it means there was at least one thing in the universe that looked at my legendary determination and said: “No.”

Not because I did not try, was lazy or incapable.

Just because every human gets at least one dragon to slay. Linear algebra happened to be mine.

I have made peace with my failure because my worth is not tied to being able to endure complicated mathematics.

The course simply revealed one of my edges.

And oddly enough, our edges are often more memorable than our strengths.