You’ve Got to Take a Few Falls in This Life.

Some people throw themselves into starting a business, failing again and again; others stumble through relationships, finally meeting someone new only to remain on edge. Failure itself isn’t really what’s frightening. What’s truly deadly is slowly getting used to despair. To the point where, no matter how good or bad things seem, your heart defaults to, “It’s probably not going to work out.”

I have a friend who’s full of drive. He started three businesses, and all three failed.

The first was a snack shop by the school gate. Business was so hot in the beginning that the queue blocked the street corner. He’d laugh while carrying bowls, too excited to sleep at night, even sketching a “franchise logo” on paper. But in less than half a year, the trend passed, customers dwindled, and he ended up sitting alone in the empty shop, counting the remaining tables and chairs before closing up with a sigh.

The second time, he tried e-commerce. He’d spend all day at the computer editing photos and writing copy, often nursing a single cup of coffee until it turned cold, his eyes sore from staring at the screen late into the night. Just as he was finally gaining some traction, the platform changed its rules, and his traffic vanished overnight. The day I went to see him, he was curled up at his desk, takeout boxes scattered on the floor. He just said one word: “It’s over.”

The third time, he co-founded a company. It started with energy, but due to clashing visions, there were small arguments every few days, big fights every week, and it ended in a bitter split—friendship ruined too. After these three times, the fire in his heart slowly dimmed.

For the fourth attempt, he still wouldn’t admit defeat and forced himself to try again. But within just a month, with no upturn in performance, he began to feel anxious and unsettled. An offhand complaint from a client would keep him up all night; he’d frown over the ledger every day, flipping through pages while sipping cold tea, as if the numbers were whispering, “You’re going under.” I tried to reassure him: “Don’t panic, this kind of setback is completely normal.” But he shook his head with a bitter smile: “I’ve already fallen three times. If this doesn’t work out, my life is really over.” In truth, there was no dead end in sight, but he had long grown accustomed to despair; the smallest setback could plunge him right back into the abyss.

Another friend of mine is like this in relationships.

His first love was passionate but was broken up by his family. The second was long-distance and slowly fizzled out. The third time he met someone suitable, but the other person’s hesitation ended up hurting him even more deeply. After these experiences, he almost stopped believing in the word “lasting.”

A while back, he met a girl he really clicked with. When they went out for coffee, he’d tell jokes and she’d laugh so hard she’d slap the table. They seemed like old friends from the start. They should have taken things slow, but sometimes when she took longer to reply to a message, he’d stare at his phone blankly, then eventually just turn it face down on the table. He lay awake until dawn that night and told me the next day: “Forget it, this relationship probably won’t work out either.” I said, “It’s just a small misunderstanding. Talk it out properly.” But he sighed deeply: “It was like this every time before, and the outcome was always the same.” He was trapped by the cracks of the past, unable to see the light right in front of him.

Getting used to despair is more terrifying than despair itself. Despair is just a valley you’re passing through in the moment; you walk through it and it’s over. But if you get used to it, it’s like putting on gray-tinted glasses—no matter how bright the light, it can’t shine through.

What’s worse is that this habit creates its own outcomes. Afraid of failure, you don’t dare give your all. Afraid of getting hurt, you’re unwilling to invest your true heart. In the end, when the result is indeed unsatisfactory, you think, “I knew it all along.” The cycle repeats, sinking you deeper, like being stuck in quicksand—the more you struggle, the deeper you sink.

But life, well, how often does it go smoothly? One failure, or even several failures, doesn’t define what your whole life will be. Stumbling in love doesn’t mean you’re destined to be alone.

To break the cycle, you first need to see clearly: often, your reaction isn’t about what’s happening now, but is being controlled by old wounds. Next, you have to learn to separate the past from the present, and not let old shadows decide your today. Finally, you still have to dare to try. Even if your heart is pounding, give yourself that one chance.

People accustomed to despair are like those who lock themselves in a dark room and then clutch the key, refusing to open the door. But if you just push that door open, whether it’s sunny or cloudy outside, at least you can see a new sky.