The Way to Fly

April 9, 2026

As I write this column, three Americans and one Canadian are hurtling home from a trip around the Moon, inside a machine that had better do exactly what it’s supposed to do. For years, every person involved in the mission obsessed over every detail at every stage until as little as possible was left to chance. “Failure is not an option,” an ethos long associated with our quest to explore outer space, makes perfect sense when we're talking about Artemis II.

But decades ago, the attitude leaked out of the space program and into everyday life, and that was a mixed blessing. When I was a teenager, “failure is not an option” might as well have been tattooed on my brain: For me, not only was failure not an option, but anything below an A grade wasn’t an option, either. I was so afraid of not being perfect that if I felt unprepared for a test, I’d stay home “sick.” I looked successful from the outside, but because I was working so hard to avoid mistakes, I played it safe. So I didn't actually accomplish much aside from some sharp-looking letters on a report card.

It took me years out in the real world to realize that real accomplishment usually looks less like gliding and more like bumping into things until you find the way through. So these days, failure and I are best buddies: I've replaced "failure is not an option" with "nothing ventured, nothing gained" as I inch toward and away from success each day. Even writing my column each week is an act of resilience: I add and then murder my words until they say what I mean, and I'm always aware in the end that it could be better.

One of my goals when I was homeschooling Madison and Ella was to make failure safe and ordinary... cheerful, even... a sign of progress. Kids need chances to try things that might flop: recipes that taste weird, projects that collapse, math problems they have to redo, conversations they wish they’d handled better. I wanted them to understand that when the stakes are low, failure is not a tragedy, it’s just how learning works.

It doesn't usually feel fun, or comfortable. But it's the only way to fly.

—Debra Ross, publisher

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