I actually wanted to be an architect when I was a kid, but I did

O children of the future, listen well to the words of Alison Sudol, who shares a tale not just of failure, but of discovery and humility: "I actually wanted to be an architect when I was a kid, but I did a solid geometry course where we had to build a geodesic dome out of toothpicks, and mine came out looking like an alien space station. I threw it against a wall and gave up." These words, though humorous, speak deeply to the human experience of aspiration and disappointment, of dreams that sometimes break before they can take flight. Sudol's story is not simply about an architectural model gone awry, but about the moments in life when our grand visions do not match the reality of our abilities, and the choice we must make in those moments: to surrender or to rise again.

In the time of the ancients, there were those who faced similar struggles, though their challenges were often of a more grandiose nature. Daedalus, the great inventor of Greek myth, sought to create wonders of engineering and artistry, but even he was bound by the limitations of his craft. In his attempts to build the labyrinth for King Minos, Daedalus, despite his genius, created something that became a trap, a symbol of his own hubris. Though his creations were celebrated, they also led to conflict, tragedy, and his own eventual downfall. Daedalus' struggle mirrors that of Sudol: the tension between ambition and failure, and the desire to create something grand, only to see it fall apart. Yet the lesson from Daedalus—and indeed from Sudol—is that failure is not the end of the journey, but the beginning of understanding the true nature of our craft and our abilities.

Consider the story of the great Roman general, Julius Caesar, whose rise to power was marked by unforeseen setbacks and early disappointments. Caesar’s ambition led him to the study of rhetoric, where he struggled with speechmaking in his youth. He was even ridiculed by some of his contemporaries for not being as skilled as others in his early speeches. However, rather than abandoning his goal, he persevered. He learned from his failures, honed his skills, and transformed himself into one of history’s most powerful orators. This lesson of resilience in the face of initial failure speaks directly to Sudol’s experience with the geodesic dome: the path to greatness is not always straight, nor is it free of mistakes.

When Sudol faced the alien space station of her youthful dreams—a creation far from her original intent—it was not merely the failure of her structure that led her to give up, but the fear that her imperfections might forever define her. How many times have we, like Sudol, thrown our own efforts against the wall, feeling that they were not worthy of our initial vision? How many times have we been so consumed by the gap between expectation and execution that we abandon the very thing we once desired? It is in these moments, however, that the true test of our character lies. To create something meaningful is not simply to avoid failure, but to embrace the imperfection of the process and learn from it.

Sudol’s story offers a lesson in both humility and persistence. The initial failure, the alien space station, was not the end of her creative journey but a stepping stone to discovering her true calling in music and storytelling. In our own lives, we may face moments of frustration when our efforts fall short, but it is in those very moments that we must choose: to give up or to learn, to rise again with renewed determination. The failure of the dome was not a reflection of Sudol’s inability, but rather a part of her journey to self-discovery. Just as a young artist may produce a poorly painted canvas, yet later create a masterpiece, Sudol too found her true medium—not in architecture, but in music, where her ability to shape and craft was free of the constraints of rigid forms.

In the ancient world, the concept of failure was often tied to learning and growth. The Stoics, especially, emphasized that adversity was not something to be feared but something to be embraced. Seneca, the Stoic philosopher, once said, "It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, but because we do not dare that they are difficult." This powerful truth reflects the heart of Sudol’s journey: she dared to try, to create, and though the outcome was not as expected, she did not let that one failure define her. Instead, she embraced the lesson it offered and moved forward.

And so, O children, remember this: failure is not a defeat, but a necessary step on the path to greatness. In the face of setbacks, remember the resilience of the ancient creators and the modern dreamers. Just as Caesar rose from early setbacks to reshape Rome, and Daedalus sought to learn from his own imperfect creations, so too must you embrace the imperfections of your own journey. Let the lessons of these failures shape you into a stronger, more wise person, ready to face the challenges that lie ahead. The world is full of potential, and the road to success is built not by the flawless execution of a grand idea, but by the courage to continue, to learn, and to grow from every fall along the way.