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You’re in a cedar thicket, way up on a ridge, high above Dahlonega, Georgia. It’s overcast (probably) and a new moon (for sure). And definitely, it’s so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face (that’s really dark).

You’re tired. You’re hungry.

You don’t feel good. You’re stumbling around trying to be quiet… and find your fire team… because you just got slammed with being the team leader… and there’s a patrol order to write.

You’re in Ranger training. Mountain phase. Hua.

It’s late thirty after a long day… and you will be up for hours writing that patrol order.

You write and write.

You’re under your poncho with a red lens flashlight. Not because it’s cold; it’s not. But you have to maintain light discipline. Preserve your night vision. What a hassle.

You write and write and write.

It’s Zero Dark Thirty and black as sin.

You write more.

Dawn finally breaks.

Your body aches for sleep. Your brain is spinning with fatigue. But you have a patrol to execute. You’ll be up all day, humping rucksacks and rifles through blackberry and greenbrier, up and down ridges in the southern Appalachians.

Then Doughboy fails you on the patrol order.

That fat bastard. Doughboy was snoozing all night along with all the other Ranger instructors. Pukes.

Unacceptable. You break your ass writing a detailed and complex operation, and with a dismissive wave of the hand, you get failed. Failing a phase of Ranger school is a Big Effen Deal. There are real consequences. You may get a chance to repeat that training phase, but it’s harder the second time around: you’re already tired and hungry, worn down, and your reserves are depleted.

Much better to pass the first time.

But you “got failed” anyway.

What would you do?

Here’s what I did.

I refused to acknowledge failure. I explained politely, and insistently, that since all the instructors had been sleeping, every one of them, there was no way I could be failed. It simply wasn’t possible.

After quite some “reasoning,” Doughboy (a fat Ranger instructor, wtf) succumbed to the inexorable logic of my relentless righteousness. Perhaps he just wanted me out of his face. Doesn’t matter. Later, it turned out he recommended me as an honor graduate.

Failure… is a point of view.

The thing about this blogging stuff: when you’re “huddled under your poncho” getting your next big move planned out, by the time you execute, it might be moot. As in pointless. As in, Mr. Market hands you a Big Fat Fail.

But this isn’t necessarily a problem, especially if you learned some marketable skills along the way. Long time readers (bofem) know this has happened to me. If you’re fairly new to Website In A Weekend (last 4,5 months or so), stick around. The story started over a year ago, and continues to evolve:

• Watch how I reframe getting economically squeezed out of my target market… from both ends.
• Learn how I use “deliberate practice” to go very deep into the most critical blogging skill of all.
• See how I leverage an A-lister’s product to sell both that product and my mine (even though these products would seemingly compete).
• Watch how I use the hamster wheel for fun and profit. (Hamsters have to eat, too, you know).

Learn how this very blog post demonstrates just how damn good I am at this craft.

And stick around to see how I meet these challenges.

What about you? What’s your biggest challenge, right now? Has your target market seismically shifted? Have you “lost” the race to the bottom? Has your stupendous idea been picked up by someone with a list of 50,000+? Do you feel like Mr Market has given you a Big Fat Fail?

Have you allowed someone else to define your failure?

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