OK, so my last post might've seemed a bit negative. It was, to be honest. Failure has a tendency to incite irrational negativity.

Negativity is (in my humble opinion at least) not a natural state of being. I'd like to believe that hope is, but this creates an entire dilemma with an entire set of arguments on its own. So instead of reminiscing about hope, I think it's appropriate to quote Thomas Edison:

I didn’t fail ten thousand times. I successfully eliminated, ten thousand times, materials and combinations which wouldn’t work.

So true.

You have a goal.

Firstly, you determine whether the goal is worth achieving, whether it's something worth dedicating even a little bit of your time or resources to.

Secondly, you determine whether the goal is in fact achievable. Often, problems might seem unsolvable and goals unreachable, but usually your gut feel (which is simply a mosaic of everything you know) will convince you either way if the obvious facts don't point in a specific direction.

Once you've convinced yourself that things are achievable - and viably so - you make a decision. Not necessarily a decision to achieve, but a decision to attempt to.

Next, you determine what's needed to get to the point you want to be. Usually, this involves a bit of research, sometimes breaking down the challenge into smaller chunks. In most cases, there will be a desirable end-result which can only be accomplished through a series of smaller steps. In some cases, however, the end-result will be vague, definable only by gut feel.

You formulate a plan with which to address every step of the challenge. You think about the plan, consider the possible outcome of each and every element carefully. In all likelihood, you do a bit of fine-tuning to each step after you've considered the plan in its entirety.

You implement.

You fail.

You fine-tune again, trying to avoid the previous mistake.

You implement.

You fail.

You fine-tune with consideration towards all previous mistakes.

(Repeat n times)

You continue to fine-tune, continue to implement, convinced that achievement is possible.

You continue to fail.

You start to doubt whether achievement is possible, but when reminded by achievement around you, convince yourself that you're being silly.

You fail again, and again.

You start to doubt yourself.

You re-evaluate whether achievement is what you desire, convince yourself that it is, and continue to implement.

You fail.

You consider. Not just the goal, but the viability, what you think is needed to reach it, what you've planned to do, how you've planned to do it, whether you've implemented your plan correctly, whether your fine-tuning has been correctly made, whether it's been made in the correct direction. You decide to take yet another different approach.

You implement.

You fail again.

You can't understand how every logical step you've taken is not having the desired effect. How every adjustment, every attempt to think laterally is being met with a negative result.

You cannot bear the thought of failure anymore.

In a moment of desperation, you take an approach which does not fit with your principles, which does not sit comfortably with your sense of self, which does not feel like it would be something you would ever recommend to anyone, which feels wrong to the core. But you take it anyway, because you cannot bear the thought of failure.

You fail again. This time not because your implementation or plan is flawed, but because your approach is fundamentally wrong. Of course, you know this; but you took it anyway, and you're painfully aware of this fact. You realise, with utter disdain, that you gave away all sense of what is right simply because you couldn't bear the thought of failure. You realise that you have failed yourself.

Every single failure except the last is acceptable.

Such an overused word, this.

Sometimes however, it's the only word that will do. Like when you're describing a vehicle like the Bugatti Veyron. Now if you know me well, you'll be aware of the fact that I have an appreciation for fine engineering; whether this engineering is in the form of automobiles, boats, bicycles or buildings. While each of these may differ in its intended use, the very best example of each usually has the same purpose: to achieve the highest possible degree of perfection.

Of course, the Veyron is just a car. It's not a woman (another thing to be appreciated, I'm acutely aware of). It's just a collection of parts. Precision crafted parts, of course, but still parts. That's not the point. The point is what the Veyron represents: a concrete representation of man's highest ideal, perfection. At least, as close as anyone can possibly get to it at this moment in time. That's why the Veyron appeals to me in such a primal way. Not because it's unbelievably fast (408km/h top speed), but because of the way it makes me smile when I think of the thousands of hours of painstaking planning, calculation, manufacturing, testing and refining that have gone into producing such an incredible machine. The Veyron cannot exist without the kind of attention to detail that keeps a man awake for days while trying to solve a seemingly unsolvable technical challenge. It cannot exist without an attitude that says no to any compromise except the reasonable. It cannot exist without thought that refuses to accept existing benchmarks as absolutes. It cannot exist without the kind of inspiration that generates seemingly boundless amounts of energy from nothing. The Veyron cannot exist without that part of man which is utterly committed to achieving the best it can possibly achieve - and that's why it has me in awe.

It's incredible what man is capable of.

Context: Flat out in a Bugatti Veyron.