My feet passed quickly over the driveway as I walked to the mailbox. I jerked it open and pulled the mail into my arms. Fumbling through the envelopes, I found one with my name. I tore it open with trembling fingers and read the first sentence. That was all I needed to know. I had worked so hard, played so many scales, and spent so much time practicing. Now it all seemed for nothing: the orchestra hadn’t accepted me.

As I walked back to the house, I wanted to cry but felt too tired. My hand pushed the door open. I dropped the mail on the dining-room table and tried to lift my eyes to meet my mom’s. I couldn’t do it, or bring myself to utter the simple words that I’d failed - again.

As I turned to climb the stairs to my bedroom, her voice chased me but I continued up slowly, numbly. Finally I reached my bedroom, the room that had shared all my dreams and disappointments. Now it would have to bear another.

I fell across my bed and the tears came. I sobbed my frustration and anger into my pillow. It lasted a minute, maybe two, then it was over. I pulled myself from my bed and from my self-pity.

The shock was over, even though it still hurt. I was still upset but moving on was crucial. Failing is where we learn to win. I can understand now why Dad told me once that, "You have to learn to lose before you can ever learn to win." Every kid has probably heard something like that at least once, but it is this belief that makes losing and failing a bearable reality.