Successful Failure
Kyle, another wonderful person
Success Failure – What’s Behind the Name
I’ve been retired for several years. Before that, I worked for a consulting firm that focused on high-risk, high-value projects with inconsistent problem statements. I was constantly learning new industries. Every day was different—exciting, sometimes scary. Most of the time, I was in over my head.
I have ADHD, and one lesser-known aspect of it is that it can make you an adrenaline junkie. My job gave me a steady dopamine drip. I could hyperfocus on a problem, and it felt amazing. I spent nearly every waking moment thinking about my clients’ challenges, often coming up with my best ideas in the shower.
I worked with incredible young people who inspired me daily and brought me immense joy. They worked hard and treated me with so much respect. The job came with bad hours and constant conflict. On top of that, I was responsible for selling work and keeping these wonderful people busy. I was always worried about disappointing them.
After retiring, I worked briefly with a very kind private equity firm. The two principals were truly wonderful, but the grind of travel and constant tension wore me down. During COVID, I served as the interim Chief Revenue Officer for a healthcare company. For six months, I worked seven days a week from 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. Not as brutal as the hours my daughter works, but it wore me out. We had to drive real change—and change always involves conflict. I was just sick of conflict.
Luckily, my wife got us into a program at Stanford, and I had a one-and-a-half-year break. I got to learn cool stuff and dabble in different things. I did the least work possible for the classes and rarely finished any project. I flitted around, avoiding commitment. Most of my classmates did something meaningful with their experience—including my wife.
When the program ended, I went back to my old routine: coffee shops, riding my unicycle, trying to write comedy. I dabbled in tech via YouTube classes but, once again, I went broad and never committed. My comedy ended up offending the neighbors. My wife and mom were both injured, and I spent much of last year as a caregiver. It was rewarding, but it also meant I wasn't doing much else. I started talking to fewer people and spending more time alone. I loved my unicycle, but it’s a solitary activity. I felt like a failure and was embarrassed by who I’d become. I avoided anything I might fail at and settled into a small, routinized world.
After the last election, I became so distraught with the country that I stopped watching the news. I’d walk out of the room if it came on. I took a Schrödinger’s cat approach: if I didn’t see Trump in office, he wasn’t really president. I just wanted to travel internationally and leave the country.
Meanwhile, my wife was thriving—volunteering in the neighborhood, sitting on a corporate board and three non-profit boards, staying actively connected and engaged.
In my office, I have a whiteboard where I write ideas and goals. I had listed health targets and plans to learn different technologies. But I realized the only thing I truly felt passionate about was my unicycle—even though most people think it’s a joke. Some friends won’t even talk to me about it because they think it’s so stupid.
One morning, I wiped the board clean and wrote:
"How do I use my unicycle to change my life? How do I turn this joke into something meaningful?"
I brainstormed:
Build my own unicycle design. I’d probably fail.
Become a leader in the unicycle community. I’m not cool or social enough.
Create a unicycle school. Who would even attend?
Start a unicycle website. What would I say?
Take a big unicycle trip and use it as a tool for self-discovery—and to better understand the country.
I chose the “take a big trip.” Basically because I thought it would be easier than the other options. I just had to get on my unicycle, head east, and see what happened. Unfortunately, I faced some barriers to this idea being successful. Was I physically strong enough? I’ve had many injuries. I spent November flat on my back with a herniated disc. My hands are damaged from carpal tunnel, and my “good” knee is starting to feel like the one I had replaced. I would often limp after a short neighborhood ride. How could I ride daily with a 30-pound pack Would my wife support something so crazy? She puts up with a lot already. Would this be just another half-baked idea I'd quit? She has always supported me so I guess that was just in my head. I knew I could use it as an excuse if I chickened out…”Kim was against it, so I decided not to do it. “
But the deepest fears were:
What would people think of me doing something this crazy?
Did I have the commitment to see it through?
What if I failed?
It was the fear of failure that haunted me most. I believed there was as good a chance I’d turn back the next day as there was I’d finish.
I did one thing to hold myself accountable, I built a website. I knew that at least my good friends would read it so my quitting would not go un-noticed. I told people it was an “experiment” and that I’d count any result as a successful failure. What I really di was provide a backdoor escape if I gave up.
Now, a month into the journey, something surprising has happened: I haven’t wanted to quit. Even after a close call in the mountains, I felt more committed than ever. I love the rhythm of the day. I wake up, pack, grab a gas-station Starbucks, and figure out my route. I’ve had nights eating alone in hotel rooms after missing destinations due to weather or fatigue, but I always wake up eager to ride.
I’m never bored. I have to focus—dodging trucks, roadkill, thunderstorms, mud, wind, and thinking deeply. I pick a topic—my wife, my kids, faith, friendship, or the country—and spend the day mulling it over. I’m constantly interrupted by beauty or absurdity. Often, a new story forms from the day’s events.
Most nights, I don’t get to the hotel until after 8 p.m., grab a bad dinner, shower, and write until 1 a.m. It’s as intense as any job I’ve had—except now, there’s no conflict. Just wonder and joy.
Last night, I realized I’d lost my charging cord. I had left it 40 miles back at a dive bar with no phone and evening-only hours. My unicycle was out of juice, and I couldn’t get back. I felt totally defeated—like I had on that mountain. (click the link for context) How could I have done something so stupid again. The barrier that I was facing was self created again?
In the morning, I inventoried my gear. I had two connectors that could work—but no XT60 female plug to link to the charger. I called auto parts stores and electricians—no one had even heard of XT60s.
I tried to rig something with a pocketknife and some wires—until I realized I was about to start a fire.
I asked ChatGPT, which told me XT60s are common in DIY and hobby circles. Unfortunately, the only hobby store in Sedalia had closed. But one in Jefferson City had them. Kyle, the clerk, was super helpful. But I had no way to get there.
I called Enterprise—they had a car! I reserved it, packed up, and was about to leave when my phone rang. It was the local agent saying there were no cars until Monday.
In desperation, I checked Uber—$94 to get to Jefferson City. But I’d be cheating. I’d be skipping 70 miles. Was the whole adventure worthless if I cheated?
My wife would be in D.C. on the 15th and 16th. I wanted so badly to see her. Missing her because of a lost cord felt unbearable.
So I cheated.
A kind Sudanese man picked me up in a very cushy Toyota Sienna. I hadn’t been that comfortable in weeks.
A cushy ride for 70 miles! Failure can be comfortable!
At the hobby store, Kyle said he didn’t have anything off the shelf—but he could make something. He soldered together a custom charger cord. It’s better than the one I lost. Kyle dropped everything to help me. While he soldered a new cable together, I spoke with his mom and heard what a wonderful son he was. I would have to agree. I asked his mom if he was the owner, “No, he just works here. He would love to have his own shop. This is his passion.” As I waited customers came in and Kyle knew them all. I think a lot of them were there just to see all the cool stuff and to be with a kind man like Kyle. Thanks kyle for your kindness, and creativity. He even recommend a great restaurant for me to go to while my unicycle re-charged has “his” shop.
Kyle, his mom, and a loyal customer. Mom doesn’t work there but likes to come over and help out.
So now I have a charge cord—but I’ll never be able to say I truly unicycled across the U.S. Tonight, I head for St. Louis. I doubt I’ll make it, but I’m going to try. I’m excited to see my wife—even if it means failure.