A few years ago, I had the unique opportunity to chat at length with a young man serving with Marine Corps Force Recon. Members of this elite Special Operations Forces organization undergo a demanding training regimen including reconnaissance school, SERE school (survival, evasion, resistance, escape), combat diving school, airborne school, and free fall courses.

Although he had just turned 30, he had already received a master’s degree from a major university, jumped out of an airplane above 20,000 feet, launched a rubber raft from a nuclear submarine, leaped into the ocean from a helicopter, and dived off the coast of Florida at night. And he accomplished all of this after serving a tour of duty in Iraq, which is another story.

At one point, we talked about the rigors of reconnaissance school. He explained that near the end of the second month—after many of the participants had already washed out—he experienced his greatest failure. This assertion surprised me. After asking a few probing questions, he finally provided more details.

It was a chilly and overcast Friday night. The last exercise of the day was another 20-kilometer orienteering course in a heavily-forested area crisscrossed by streams, ravines, rocky cliffs, and other obstacles.

Using only map and compass, this young man successfully located the first three waypoints. Unfortunately, he got lost and did not locate the fourth until time had run out. He continued to the fifth waypoint and then finished the course.

When he arrived at the end, he was informed that he had failed the course.

He was offered two choices: quit, or run the course again on Saturday night.

He explained that he was exhausted and battered after several falls in a rocky ravine, but he chose to run the course again.

The marines who had successfully completed the course were given the weekend off, but he showed up the next night to give it another try.

Hours later, he finished the course in time after efficiently locating every waypoint. He also managed to avoid falling in the ravine again.

I was intrigued by his assertion that this was his greatest failure, and asked him to explain this notion again. He repeated a brief description of his calamitous disorientation the previous night, and his subsequent failure to complete the course in the allotted time.

This attitude perplexed me. After thinking about it a few seconds, I told him that Friday night might have been his greatest failure, but Saturday night was his greatest achievement.

Surprised by my assertion, he asked me if this was because he had successfully completed the course. I answered, “No. Most people would have quit. But even though you were tired and hurt, you chose to try the course again.

In my book, this is an achievement of the highest order.”

He thanked me for the kind words, and promised to think about it.

I have often thought about this young man’s “greatest failure.”

It is a lesson I have since applied to my own life.

We only fail when we choose not to get up and try again. Semper fidelis.