Faceplant (noun, plural/faceplants)
1. The end point for a catastrophic loss of equilibrium during a ballistic biped activity resulting in a reorientation to a more stable form, that being a tripod, where the contact point of one of the legs of said tripod is, THE FACE.
The quality of a faceplant is determined by the speed, mass, impact site and audience where the plant is performed.
A stable form which involves death, dismemberment or permanent physical injury to the planter, the planter’s family or the audience, is not classified as a faceplant.
2. (Metaphor) Where the speed, mass, and impact site involved in a traditional faceplant, is exchanged for the planter’s wealth, power, fame or intent. Stability of form, or the metaphoric tripod, is a fundamental reduction in available choices combined with humiliation, the ultimate expression of which is THE MUG SHOT.
3. (Philosophy) A belief system based on the notion that wisdom is acquired through repeated failures, specifically those that can be defined as faceplants, a type which enhances the planter's ability to differentiate subjective and objective consequences.
This change in perspective is believed to be cumulative, allowing the planter to acquire a philosophical point of view resulting in a lasting state of wisdom, which adherents call The Quantum Tripod.
Why this, why now?
I’m 70 years old and after being pushed to the edge of the abyss where I gazed into its black depth I realized I was unprepared. Why?
I am a mountain climber and in my observation of the sport and its rules, the most glaring piece of insanity is the climbing community giving a climber who died on the way down, credit for the summit they achieved.
The only reason to climb a mountain is to return with a story. If you fail that what was the point? You got to the top of a pile of rocks? So what. You haven’t cured cancer. The only thing of value is the story you come back with. If you die on the way down the story is gone forever. In my opinion, you only get credit for a summit if you can return, ALIVE, with a story.
When I gazed into the abyss I realized that, metaphorically speaking, I was on the verge of dying on the way down. Stories untold.
Life is just a collection of summit attempts. Journeys where you have reached the summit, journeys where you have failed to summit. I haven’t cured cancer. So the only part of my life that’s ultimately of value are the stories I’ve accumulated, specifically the failures.
Why the failures? Because, I have, somehow, managed to fail in every way imaginable without killing or maiming myself or anyone else.
For example, I have totaled twenty cars. And I have done so with barely a scratch. Who does that? People have called me unlucky. But am I?
I have a close friend who has had only one car accident in his entire life. His car was totaled. And I was sitting in the passenger seat when it happened.
All of these car crashes have occurred in uniquely different ways.
I once totaled two cars in the same day.
Another time I totaled a car without being anywhere near it. I met a friend for lunch. When I left the restaurant my car was gone. When I called the police they said the car was towed because it was parked illegally. When I asked how the car was parked they said it was laying on its side in the middle of the street. Totaled.
Ultimately, why do these stories matter?
My failures are my immortality, the sum total of my accumulated wisdom. If I don’t tell them, all that will be left of me is an image of my rapidly dropping body as it disappears into the vast black of the abyss.
There are two ways to learn things. The easy way, and, the hard way. The easy way is to learn from the failures of others. The hard way is to fail yourself. Both ways work.
This is me. Offering you the easy way. I have made every mistake imaginable. Use them. Laugh at them. It’s all good.
In conclusion, you will take what I’m offering or you won’t.
And that will be your story.