“Failure is only the opportunity to more intelligently begin again.“ (Henry Ford)

Yesterday we looked at the wisdom of risking enough to fail, and encouraging our kids to do the same. So what do you do after the failure?

As always, the first response is: breathe. The second response is to quiet the regret monkeys who whisper from our shoulders that we never should have tried it in the first place. The third response is to refuse any and all name-calling. (My wife has a great saying whenever she hears me echo my monkeys. If I call myself an idiot, she demands: “Don’t talk about my husband that way.”)

The final response is to seek knowledge. If experience is the best teacher, then guess what? Your failed experiment is the best education. So, why did this effort fail? If the answer cannot be: A) because it should have never been tried, or B) because you’re an idiot, then what?

That’s the lesson.

“Like what you do, if you don’t like it, do something else.“ (Paul Harvey)

I don’t think parents talk to their kids enough about their work. In an effort to create work/life balance, we try to keep the two separate. As if they are, somehow, in direct competition with one another.

Do you like what you do? Talk to your kids about it. Don’t be afraid that you’ll somehow communicate you like being away from them more than you like being with them. That’s just dumb.

Also, when talking to your kids about their future work, be bold enough to quiet all the anxiety about the most secure occupations in the next quarter-century, and the best-paying college majors. Tell your kids the truth: find something you like to do, and find the energy and passion to do it well.

Now, “for the rest of the story,”…if you don’t like what you do—are you bold enough to do something else? What will you instruct your adult kids to do in 20 years, when they’re faced with the same dilemma?

“The only true thing is what’s in front of you right now.” (Ramona Ausubel)

If I had only one piece of advice for every husband this morning, it would be this:

When your wife approaches you tonight, about anything at all, calmly put down the phone, the iPad, and the remote. Then move yourself into a position of connection, and be painstakingly present.

Communicate, with your singular focus on her eyes, that while you initially got engaged to be married…

you actually got married to be engaged.

“The greatest mistake a man can ever make is to be afraid of making one.” (Elbert Hubbard)

In a recent interview, self-made Atlanta billionaire Sara Blakely, the creator of the Spanx undergarment revolution, gave a clue to her success.

Around her family’s dinner table growing up, each kid knew Dad was going to turn to them with a question. And they had to answer honestly.

“What did you fail at today?”

This was not the pouncing judgment of a perfectionist, it was a brave father who dared his children to be bold enough to fail. The way Blakely tells it, the only way Dad was disappointed was if you played it too safe in life. He wanted them to experiment, to dare to build, to create, inspire, and fall short.

Mr. Blakely knew something all truly successful people know: the only real risk is not risking, and the only real failure is giving in to your fear of failure.

“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.” (Mark Twain)

The wife and I finally showed “The Sixth Sense” to our kids last night (they’re 18 and 16). Always fun to introduce them to great movies, especially one with such an incredible surprise ending.

I hadn’t seen the film in a long while; I forgot how scary it could be. What also struck me this time was the courageous transformation of the boy, played so brilliantly by Haley Joel Osment. Facing an otherworldly challenge none of us can imagine, this boy’s healing began when he actually paused, in the midst of his terrible fear, and listened to his ghosts.

“No fear” is a popular brand/phrase, but it’s not nearly as helpful as it sounds. Pausing in the face of fear, listening to what scares you, takes true courage.

Afraid your spouse doesn’t love you? Pause, breathe, and ask her—without trying to manipulate the answer. Afraid your kid is getting into deep waters? Pause, breathe, and take him out for fries and a Coke. Confess your fears, then ask him about his.

It’s okay to be scared; it’s not courageous to pretend you’re not.

“The ultimate security is your understanding of reality.” (H. Stanley Judd)

So much of our lives is spent in the pursuit of security. We arm our houses with locks and alarms, and even cameras. We insure those houses, along with our cars, and even our lives. We invest our hard-earned cash into stocks & bonds, and even call them “securities.” (And no one laughs.)

Even more, we go out of our way to protect our kids from any and all harm, lest we try to sleep at night without such security.

It’d be great if any of these searches for security actually worked, but of course, they can only offer a measure of insulation against the truth: There are no guarantees. There is no such thing as absolute safety. There is no other human, and no other thing, that can make us feel totally secure.

Ironically, the most secure people you and I know are the ones who are most comfortable with this truth.

“It is not how much we have, but how much we enjoy.” (Charles H. Spurgeon)

This summer, my wife Jenny has been reading, and living, a wonderful book called The Life-Giving Magic of Tidying Up, by a Japanese organization master named Marie Kondo.

I know this, not because I’ve seen Jenny perusing the book’s pages; I know this because I’ve caught her poring through our closet, exiting only with bags of clothes for Goodwill. Similar episodes have occurred in the pantry, the hall bathroom closet, and the basement.

I highly recommend Ms. Kondo’s NYT No. 1 bestseller. She asks her readers to go through their homes, and examine their clutter, with one simple question: Does this item spark joy? If so, keep it and cherish it. Wear that outfit more often. Display that picture more prominently.

If anything in your home does not spark joy, let it go. Discard it, and feel the freedom from clutter.

This philosophy does not, I believe, apply to family members.

“There are times when parenthood seems nothing but feeding the mouth that bites you.” (Peter De Vries)

Every parent, at least once, has complained about their child’s amazing ingratitude. “These kids,” we say while shaking our heads, “they have no idea how good they’ve got it…all I do for them, and this is the thanks I get?!?!?”

Here’s a thought:  If we need to get their gratitude in order to justify doing all we do for them, then we’re attaching emotional strings to our gifts. This means we’re not actually loving them with the gifts of our time and our service, we’re exchanging them for an emotional price to pay.

Here’s another thought: If they don’t appreciate all we do for them, maybe that means we’re doing too much for them. You cannot spoil someone into gratitude.

Do less for them, and what’s left, do without expecting any sort of thanks in return. Then watch what happens.

“Genius is the ability to reduce the complicated to the simple. ” (C.W. Ceram)

My daughter heads off to college this year, and as a gift, I’m writing her a book of Dad’s wisdom. Now, as you might imagine, this is not a gift she asked me for; we’ll see if she ever reads it. I know for sure she won’t if :

• It’s long
• It’s complicated

As any of us try to impart wisdom to our teens, these are the standards they call us to. Keep it brief, and keep it simple. Here’s a good rule of thumb: leave ‘em wanting more. If they ask follow-up question, you’ve done well. Here’s an example:

“If a friend seems to take more than she gives, then calmly tell her. If she gives an apology, beautiful. If she takes offense, she’s still taking.”

“We lie loudest when we lie to ourselves.” (Eric Hoffer)

Self-talk is not optional. You and I have a constant conversation going on in our heads at all times. For a window into it, go see the brilliant Pixar film “Inside Out”.

What’s most difficult, and yet most important, is the task of accurately observing our internal conversations, and then accurately discerning the truth from the lies.

Here’s rule #1: If your self-talk has words like always, ever, or never—it’s a lie. Nothing is ever always anything.

Here’s another: If your self-talk has you calling yourself or others nasty names like stupid, or perfect, or totally incompetent—see rule #1.