Trying, failing, and retreating

Trying, failing, and retreating describes a tension that Auden confronts when achievement no longer protects her from being a beginner. In bowling and a nighttime paper route, early mistakes make her want to withdraw; Eli’s response is to treat imperfection as part of trying rather than proof that she cannot succeed. The concept turns on a crucial distinction: opting out before risking failure is not the same as attempting something and failing at it.

The First Mistake and the Impulse to Stop

At the bowling alley, the polished lane already seems to invite comparison between Auden’s inexperience and the confident performance she imagines a child might manage. Eli calls from behind her, “You’re overthinking,” but his encouragement does not prevent the first attempt from going badly. Auden swings the ball, which flies into the next lane before rolling into the gutter. A voice from the smoking section calls out, and the public mishap leaves her flushed and embarrassed. When the ball returns, she says, “I think I’d better not,” and concludes that bowling is not her strong suit.

Her immediate retreat comes not after a long effort but after one conspicuous mistake. Auden had hoped, or at least imagined, that a first shot might be a strike; the gap between that expectation and the ball’s actual course makes the failure feel more decisive than it is. Eli counters by naming the attempt as her first, not as a final verdict on her ability. He takes her hands, positions them on the ball, and tells her to release it earlier. The gesture makes the alternative to retreat practical: try again with one changed detail.

The second throw remains awkward. Auden reminds herself that the activity is only a game, then releases the ball; it wobbles slowly but knocks down two pins on the right. Eli calls it “Not bad,” and the result shifts the scene without transforming her into a skilled bowler. Across two full games, he continues to score strikes and spares while Auden concentrates on avoiding the gutter. She has a couple of good frames and discovers that she is somewhat happy about them. The difference is modest but important: success no longer has to mean immediate mastery in order to make participation worthwhile.

Achievement, Inexperience, and the Fear of Being Bad

The paper route exposes the same conflict in a less playful setting. Auden’s throw hits the steps and then banks into bushes; when she retrieves the paper, brambles are caught in her hair. Her frustration is visible. Eli answers that it is acceptable not to be good at everything, but Auden objects that delivering papers should not be difficult in the way quantum physics or Mandarin Chinese is difficult. Her comparison reveals that she has divided skills into those worthy of struggle and those she expects herself to perform well at once.

Auden explains the deeper stake directly: “Look, achievement is my thing, okay? It’s what I do. It’s all I’ve ever been good at.” Eli reframes this as being good at doing well. Auden then distinguishes learning from the more exposed task of doing something that involves other people. She has been able to learn alone, with only herself and the subject matter; Eli adds that this means working indoors. The paper route unsettles that protected model. The papers must be thrown toward actual houses, in front of Eli, and each miss is visible rather than privately correctable.

That distinction helps explain why an apparently simple activity feels so charged. Auden does not describe herself as unable to learn; she is accustomed to learning where effort can remain controlled and solitary. Throwing a paper badly requires her to endure public, physical ineptitude. Eli does not deny that she is struggling. Instead, he challenges the assumption that a poor performance in a new activity should be disqualifying. The scene places her familiar measure of achievement beside a skill whose first results cannot be secured by preparation alone.

Failure, Withdrawal, and the Choice to Try

As the route continues, Eli keeps making accurate throws while Auden misses another driveway. He tells her that life includes screwups and that failing is a required part of human existence. Auden replies that she has failed before, but Eli questions whether those experiences were failures in the relevant sense. She never wanted to be homecoming queen, she says, or to take part in similar pursuits. Eli’s distinction is exact: “Then you didn’t fail. You just opted out. There’s a difference.”

The exchange changes the meaning of the word failure. An unwanted contest cannot serve as evidence of a loss Auden actually risked; declining to enter it leaves her protected from the result. Eli does not say that every challenge matters or that Auden must want the same things as anyone else. Rather, he separates refusing an unchosen goal from trying at something she has elected to do and discovering that she is not yet good at it. That distinction unsettles the comfort of treating nonparticipation as proof that a challenge never mattered.

Eli’s own account makes room for discouragement rather than presenting persistence as effortless. He describes a long record of things he has failed at and says he is good at being bad at things. When Auden asks whether he never becomes discouraged, he says that he does: “Failing sucks. But it’s better than the alternative.” The alternative, he clarifies, is “Not even trying.” His argument is not that failure feels pleasant or that every attempt succeeds, but that avoiding all risk has its own cost. The approaching recollection of Abe gives the statement particular weight: Auden has never met him, yet, at that moment, she feels as if he is sitting in the seat beside her. The passage makes the thought of limited time present without turning it into a guarantee of success.

Imperfect Participation

Near the end of the route, the surroundings become familiar as Eli drives into Auden’s father’s neighborhood. Eli is throwing the papers himself now; Auden reaches for one from the stack between them and says, “Okay,” before claiming the next throw as hers. That small action answers the earlier distinction more decisively than a promise to become good at the task would. She does not know whether the throw will land well. She accepts the chance to make it.

The bowling score sheet offers a quieter version of the same movement. After the two games, Auden takes the sheet from the trash where Eli has discarded it and folds it into a little square. The score is not presented as evidence that she has beaten him: he has bowled constant strikes and spares, while she has focused on staying out of the gutter. Yet she keeps a record of the experience, including the good frames that surprised her. The paper route and the bowling alley thus give the concept two concrete forms: a ball released again after it enters the gutter, and a delivery attempted again after a paper misses its target. Together, they recast competence as something that can follow participation rather than precede it. Auden’s movement is not from failure to mastery, but from treating an imperfect beginning as a reason to retreat to choosing, at least once more, to try.