CVs of failures

Academic successes are visible and desirable. Each time we apply for a position or grant, we attach our qualifications and lists of publications. Setbacks, on the other hand, are often invisible. No one is requesting these. Nor do they offer any likes or congratulations. But all academics know that setbacks are more common than successes. We all have long CVs of failures. 

In recent years, these alternative CVs have received increasing attention. In the Anglo-Saxon academic blogosphere, they have become somewhat of a mainstay during the 2010s. Many acclaimed scholars have decided to publicly showcase their illustrious failures: programs they were not accepted to, positions they didn’t get, applications and manuscripts that were rejected. Some of these CVs have gone viral. 

During this first spring of blogging, I also sought to give some insight into my failures and professional setbacks. One purpose has been to present life as an academic as it is and how it feels. This includes failure. I expect to continue doing so. Fail forward. 

As we all know, there is only one way of never failing. To not participate. Someone not applying for positions can never be ranked in the bottom. Someone not applying for research funding can never be rejected. Someone never submitting an article manuscript for review can never be humiliated and rejected. For most of us, however, this is not an option. Our futures as academics depend entirely on participating in the game. 

If we are to remain healthy in the meantime, we thus need to learn how to cope with failures. They can’t always come as a shock and trigger bitterness, depression and self-doubt. Not every time. Then it’s not worth it. If this is what being an academic feels like year after year, then there must be better things to do with your life. 

However, my experience from the competitive gaming world is that it is possible to learn to become a better, or rather more constructive, loser. At the moment of losing, of course, it’s hard to avoid these kinds of emotions. They are what they are. But we can choose to focus on the decision-making and working process, rather than on the outcome. Both in ups and downs. 

The art of losing is a learning process. As I see it, however, it shouldn’t just occur at an individual level. I’m sure that it is possible to develop workplace cultures and collegial contexts where failures are managed in a good way. Where they are visible and valued. Yes, even in demand. 

Some of my strongest experiences from this field originate in teaching contexts. Here, I have experienced times when one of the strongest individuals in the group of students has proved to be imperfect. They have stated quite plainly that a text has been difficult and hard to read or that they don’t follow a line of reasoning. When this happens, it can be incredibly liberating for a group. The behaviors of these students show that coming up short is not dangerous. It is an essential part of all forms of significant learning processes. Conversations in such groups can be far-reaching. 

Whether all academics should prepare a CV of their failures is not really for me to say. But surely it would be an exciting seminar exercise to do together? “Attach your biggest failures and the most hurtful comments you have received. No more than two pages.” I think many departments would benefit greatly from this.

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