The art of bouncing back

I think I learnt as much from these survival jobs as I did from my university courses. Picture: iStock

I failed my first year of university. For years I convinced myself it was because of the difficulties I experienced in transitioning from a small country town high school to a vast Melbourne university. I was a little boy lost. Poor me. The fact that other country kids managed this transition didn’t fit into my victim narrative. In reality, I was spending far too much time with my new girlfriend and skipping lectures; that’s why I failed miserably. My father was angry, and rightly so. I had squandered an opportunity, and his generosity.

What I lacked at 18 was the ability to take control of the situation – to defer my course, to be honest about my priorities. But that would have involved a painful discussion with my parents. Or, more to the point, an admission that I had stuffed up. So I simply carried on, kinda knowing that a crunch was coming. (Although that girlfriend is now my wife of 41 years, so I say it was a good investment.)

I lost my scholarship; my parents couldn’t help; I managed to scramble back into a teacher’s college; I looked for part-time work. And the only reason I got into a teacher’s college is because my girlfriend said, “You need to go to the admissions officer and plead your case.” We had words. I didn’t want to do it, but I knew she was right.

The admissions officer gave me a dressing down: “Why should we give you a place? You had your chance.” I left his office thinking, “Well, that’s that then.” Three days later I got a letter offering me a spot. I felt humbled and grateful, and set about rebuilding.

I worked as a gardener. I worked as a waiter and as a barman. I loaded newspapers onto trucks between midnight and dawn one night a week for four years. I washed dishes at Rob’s Carousel restaurant on Albert Park Lake. All while completing my teaching degree (and then a Masters).

I think I learnt as much from these survival jobs as I did from my courses. I learnt from waiting tables that some people can be rude and difficult while others are warm and generous. I learnt by washing dishes that if you got along with the chef he might “accidentally” burn the Oysters Kilpatrick and fling you the castoff plate for dinner. The old lady for whom I gardened taught me all about herbs. And working in bars, I learnt how some people can change after just a few beers. (I don’t drink alcohol.)

In some ways, failing that first year at uni was the best thing that ever happened to me. I am sure I picked up life lessons and a better understanding of human failings and foibles along the way. It galvanised my priorities and shone a light on the way forward.

It’s important to keep things in perspective, though. Failing uni and then recovering the situation is certainly a challenge between the ages of 18 and 22, but it isn’t quite the same thing as, for example, being in the army over these years, which was my father’s life experience. And which possibly shaped his disappointment at my squandering of the opportunity to go to university.

For many years I thought the great learning from this life experience was the need to face up to the situation, to accept the consequences and to work hard at rebuilding. And of course all of that is true. But there is something more that I think can flow from missteps and from adversity, and that is the ability to learn something, anything, from the stumbles and tumbles of life’s trajectory.

To come out the other side mentally stronger or more focused or more determined can, in my view, deliver a dividend that actually enables success and happiness in the years that follow.