There are moments of latency, of uncertainty, of openness. Moments that generate immense potential precisely because nothing is fixed yet. I have come to realize that my relationship to failure is deeply connected to these spaces of openness and has quite intensily evolved over time.
For me, failure begins with the courage to confront. It begins with pushing doors, and pushing doors requires accepting that some of them will remain closed or close in front of you. Courage is not the guarantee that a door will open; it is the willingness to knock anyway. Some doors will open. Many will not.
Over time, I have started redefining failure. At first glance, failure looks like rejection: not getting a grant, a paper declined, not being selected for a position. And yes, rejection is painful. It carries a verdict-like tone. But when I look deeper, I realize that what I truly consider failure is not trying. It would be allowing fear of rejection to dictate my actions. It would be shrinking instead of stepping forward.
My relationship to sport, especially boxing, has shaped this understanding. Boxing is confrontational. Some days, everything aligns: I feel strong, I level up, I grow. Other days are ordinary, or even bad. Low energy. Less sharpness. Nothing spectacular. We rarely talk about those days. Yet they are essential: they are days of consolidation. There are times to grow, and there are times to consolidate. Times to expand and create, and times to reflect and prepare. Growth depends on these quieter phases.
In academia and professional life, we tend to glorify visible moments of success: publications, grants, promotions, while overlooking the invisible phases that make them possible: reflection, recalibration, resilience after rejection. These phases often carry the label of “failure”, yet they are preparatory and they are structural to growth.
One of my ongoing struggles is separating rejection from self-worth. When a proposal is declined or a paper rejected, the temptation is to ask: What does this say about me? But perhaps the more relevant question is: How do I handle this feedback? How does it inform my next step? Rejection is not a judgment on my person. It is feedback on a piece of work produced at a specific moment, within specific conditions.
And many of those conditions are beyond my control. Especially with grants and proposals, outcomes are shaped by political processes, funding priorities, institutional dynamics, all of which being partly exogenous factors over which I have no power. Recognizing this does not erase frustration, but it helps replacing responsibility where it belongs. The challenge is to find peace within processes that exceed me.
So far, I am proud of one thing: I always step back out. Two rejected US grant proposals. Multiple paper rejections. A declined grant at Wageningen. Each one was difficult. Each one shook something. But each time, I returned to the door and knocked again.
I am learning to be faithful to my dreams without taking myself too seriously. To prepare seriously, but not overprepare out of fear. To show up ready, while accepting that not everything is in my hands. It is a balance between effort and surrender, preparation and trust.
Failure, then, is not rejection. Failure would be refusing to engage. As long as I keep pushing doors, navigating storms, consolidating when needed and expanding when possible, I am still very much in motion.
And perhaps that is the point.
There are moments of latency, of uncertainty, of openness. Moments that generate immense potential precisely because nothing is fixed yet. I have come to realize that my relationship to failure is deeply connected to these spaces of openness and has quite intensily evolved over time.
For me, failure begins with the courage to confront. It begins with pushing doors, and pushing doors requires accepting that some of them will remain closed or close in front of you. Courage is not the guarantee that a door will open; it is the willingness to knock anyway. Some doors will open. Many will not.
Over time, I have started redefining failure. At first glance, failure looks like rejection: not getting a grant, a paper declined, not being selected for a position. And yes, rejection is painful. It carries a verdict-like tone. But when I look deeper, I realize that what I truly consider failure is not trying. It would be allowing fear of rejection to dictate my actions. It would be shrinking instead of stepping forward.
My relationship to sport, especially boxing, has shaped this understanding. Boxing is confrontational. Some days, everything aligns: I feel strong, I level up, I grow. Other days are ordinary, or even bad. Low energy. Less sharpness. Nothing spectacular. We rarely talk about those days. Yet they are essential: they are days of consolidation. There are times to grow, and there are times to consolidate. Times to expand and create, and times to reflect and prepare. Growth depends on these quieter phases.
In academia and professional life, we tend to glorify visible moments of success: publications, grants, promotions, while overlooking the invisible phases that make them possible: reflection, recalibration, resilience after rejection. These phases often carry the label of “failure”, yet they are preparatory and they are structural to growth.
One of my ongoing struggles is separating rejection from self-worth. When a proposal is declined or a paper rejected, the temptation is to ask: What does this say about me? But perhaps the more relevant question is: How do I handle this feedback? How does it inform my next step? Rejection is not a judgment on my person. It is feedback on a piece of work produced at a specific moment, within specific conditions.
And many of those conditions are beyond my control. Especially with grants and proposals, outcomes are shaped by political processes, funding priorities, institutional dynamics, all of which being partly exogenous factors over which I have no power. Recognizing this does not erase frustration, but it helps replacing responsibility where it belongs. The challenge is to find peace within processes that exceed me.
So far, I am proud of one thing: I always step back out. Two rejected US grant proposals. Multiple paper rejections. A declined grant at Wageningen. Each one was difficult. Each one shook something. But each time, I returned to the door and knocked again.
I am learning to be faithful to my dreams without taking myself too seriously. To prepare seriously, but not overprepare out of fear. To show up ready, while accepting that not everything is in my hands. It is a balance between effort and surrender, preparation and trust.
Failure, then, is not rejection. Failure would be refusing to engage. As long as I keep pushing doors, navigating storms, consolidating when needed and expanding when possible, I am still very much in motion.
And perhaps that is the point.