Trial and Error, or How Zines are Teaching Me to Overcome My Fear of Failure
Also, apparently, a long-winded answer to the question, "Why did you move to Portugal?"
I have a fear of failure. (Me and every other millennial woman.) I think I always have, but it became debilitating in my early adulthood. I actively avoided doing the things I wanted to do because of this fear. Often, I felt I was drifting through my life on the path of least resistance. I couldn’t fight against this path because that would involve trying something else. In my eyes, “trying” meant I could fail, so being seen as “trying” became one of the scariest things I could do.
My career, love life, friendships, and sense of self have all taken a hit from my fear of failing. I’m older now (and wiser?), so I can at least recognize this fear when it pops up, but younger me had no idea how much it affected my life. After all, I was just going with the flow; changing jobs only when someone mentioned their company was hiring, going to concerts of bands I barely listened to, and moving out of my parents’ house only when someone offered to be my roommate. I certainly wasn’t making art back then, and never thought of myself as an artist. I learned at a young age that failure was inherent in art, so I avoided it even as it called to me. Maybe if I hadn’t, I could have used the process of artistic creation to conquer this fear by now.
Nowadays, my fear of failure can usually be conquered long enough to allow me to do things just once. Either it's good or it’s not, and I can’t be bothered to keep trying (and failing) at it. This became particularly noticeable when I started exploring different artistic endeavors in my 30s. As much as I want to create ‘the perfect thing’ I envision, I often won't try again if I can’t do it right the first time. I may even abandon the whole medium; sorry, watercolors. Somehow, the idea for this perzine, ‘my two cities,’ didn’t challenge me in this way. It felt fun and straightforward; just a silly little collection of photos from my time in New York City compared to Lisbon, but the more I tried again and again to get it right, the longer I had to sit with the concept, and it slowly became so much more to me.
Zines, in a way, have both forced me to keep trying and allowed me to keep trying. While zines seem simple on the surface, the open-endedness and accessibility of this new medium mean I’m editing and adjusting more than I ever have with other artistic mediums. Thankfully, reprinting a zine doesn’t feel overly wasteful; even the tiniest edit can make me hit the print button again; unlike painting where if I screw up, the paint, the paper, the time, it all feels wasted. When it comes to zines, I finally don’t mind the process of trying.
I spent most of my weekend printing, cutting, and gluing again and again until I finally got this zine the way I wanted it (or close enough for now). Through that iteration, the zine became less about showing these funny little coincidences and more about what I left behind for my current life. It's not just a look into my camera reel, but also a look at who I was and who I am becoming. Now the question is, what the hell do I do with it?
When the original idea and the imagery were simple, I thought people would want to see it, but now that the concept is deeply personal, I’m afraid no one can appreciate it. I cried looking at these photos and remembering all I’ve lost. I don’t think it can illicit that or any deep reaction in a stranger. I don’t think you can see the longing, the grief, the regret, or that tiny drop of hope in it. At best, someone might see it and think, “Oh, that’s interesting.” Or maybe smile a little at the silliness of it and the patterns of the human condition. I didn’t go out looking for this imagery, and I didn’t plan or stage any of the photos. They all predate the idea for this zine. So, in a way, I think you can see my habits, my interests, and the things that made me stop and wonder; maybe if I did it right, you can even get a sense of who I am.
Who I am, that is, when I’m not afraid of being seen trying. Because looking at these photos now, I know I took them all alone. I’m not surprised, after all, I’m almost always alone. And maybe that’s the secret to how I’m overcoming this fear. Maybe that's why I left my favorite city for a new one. So I can be without pretense, without observers, without the fear of being seen trying, because there is no one here to see.
I eventually got the zine just right, and it finally feels worthy of sharing, but there’s still no one here to see. And logically, I know that won’t always be the case, but damn it hurts to think I’ve ran so far from my fear of failure that I’ve left everyone and everything behind.
For more personal essays about artistic creation and to watch me piece myself back together…
This zine is so pretty! I love seeing the parallels. It reminds us someone can romanticize any location. I know people romanticize where I’m from the way I would romanticize the hills of Scotland.
I have also fought with the fear of failing in front of others. My recent hobbies have really helped me push out of my comfort zone with it!
Making art is the most recent example in my life, but rock climbing was the most impactful. I wanted to climb so bad that it didn’t matter that others judged me. That progression bled to many other aspects of my life and have had long-lasting impacts.
Keep failing! It leads to growth.
This is so beautiful, Sarah. I moved around a lot as a kid and can deeply identify with the grief and hope of your story and zine. I really love that it is just photos being compared with one another because it allows the viewer to bring their own experiences to it. I'm glad you found a medium that allows you to try! Making zines has been really theraputic for my perfectionism, too. Especially because first and foremost, I make them for me. If they feel good enough to share after, that's just a bonus.