The Power of Failure: Why It’s the Secret to True Growth

In the world of theater, when something goes wrong, it’s never subtle. It’s big, it’s bold, and it’s in front of an audience. But those moments are often the ones that push us to grow the most, and I learned that in the most unforgettable way during our production of The Little Mermaid.

Audiences gather for Eastern Shore Repertory Theatre's production of Disney's The Little Mermaid.
photo by Kelly Bullington

The Little Mermaid was a show that meant the world to me. We performed it outdoors on the Bluff, with Mobile Bay as our backdrop, the sun setting perfectly over the water. It felt like the most fitting stage for a story about the sea. More than that, I was in a place where I was building my career. I had a special guest that night—a theater professional from New York, someone I admired deeply. It was the first time I had the chance to really showcase my hometown, my work, and my students to someone I held in such high regard. I cared so much about what he thought.

Ariel swims "through the water" in Eastern Shore Repertory Theatre's production of Disney's The Little Mermaid
photo by Beth Glisson

Everything was going beautifully… until it wasn’t.

Lesson 1: Trust in Your Team (Even When Everything Goes Dark)

King Triton and the Sea Creatures delighting audience members moments before our big problem.

Right in the middle of Under the Sea, one of the most energetic numbers in the show, the stage lights went out. Completely. The generator had failed, and the entire stage was plunged into darkness. My heart sank. My first thought wasn’t about the audience or the show—it was, “What is my guest of honor going to think? He’s going to hate this.”

The moments the lights went out. 

For a moment, I felt frozen. Everyone in the sound and lighting booth was looking at me, waiting for a decision. Do we stop the show? Do we try to fix the problem? I could feel the panic bubbling up. But then I looked at the stage, and something incredible was happening. The kids—completely unfazed—kept dancing. Their costumes had built-in lights, so they glowed in the dark. For a moment, the audience thought it was intentional, part of the performance. But when it became clear that the blackout wasn’t planned, you could feel the tension rise.

Dancing in the dark to a supportive audience
photo by Beth Glisson

That’s when I clicked into “leader” mode. I had a team looking to me, kids on stage still performing, and an audience holding its breath. I had to trust my instincts—and my team. I knew the technical crew was working to get the generator back on, and I made the decision to let the show continue. The kids were already carrying on, so why shouldn’t we?

Lesson 2: Adaptability Turns Challenges into Opportunities

As the performance continued, something amazing happened. The audience, following the lead of the kids on stage, pulled out their cell phones and started lighting up the stage. Hundreds of little lights filled the air like stars, illuminating the performance in a way we could never have planned. The performers were energized by the audience’s response, and the audience, in turn, felt like they were part of the show.

photo by Beth Glisson

In that moment, I realized how powerful it can be to let go of control. I couldn’t have planned for a blackout, but because we adapted and kept going, we created a moment that connected the performers and the audience in a way we never expected.

As a leader, you can’t always predict what will go wrong—but you can decide how to respond when it does. Adaptability is key. Instead of seeing failure as the end, it’s an invitation to do something different, something you didn’t anticipate. That night, what could have been a disaster turned into an unforgettable, collective experience.

Lesson 3: Failure Isn’t the End—It’s the Start of Transformation

I’ll never forget the moment when the lights powered back on. It was like clockwork, perfectly timed with the end of the song. The audience erupted in cheers. What should have been a technical failure became the highlight of the night. The kids were exhilarated—they couldn’t believe they had just danced through a blackout. They were proud of themselves, and rightfully so.

photo by Beth Glisson

After the show, the story everyone wanted to talk about wasn’t the flawless parts—it was the blackout. How the kids kept going, how the audience stepped in, how the energy didn’t just stay alive—it grew. That’s when I realized that failure isn’t where things fall apart. It’s where transformation happens. The failure of the generator didn’t end the show; it created a moment that we all remember to this day.

Lesson 4: Our Greatest Stories Come from Imperfect Moments

The truth is, when we plan and rehearse, we expect everything to go perfectly. But those perfectly executed moments aren’t usually the ones that stick with us. The moments we remember, the ones that become our best stories, are the ones where things went off-script, where we had to improvise, where we had to rely on each other to make it through.

For me, the blackout during The Little Mermaid is that story. It was a moment where I had to let go of control, trust my team, and lean into the unexpected. And it wasn’t just a valuable lesson in leadership—it was a reminder that the best moments are often the ones we don’t plan for.

Conclusion: Let Failure Be Your Foundation for Growth

Failures aren’t meant to stop us. They’re meant to shape us, to push us to adapt, to find new solutions, and to trust that sometimes, things going wrong is just the beginning of something even better.

That night, I didn’t just learn how to handle a technical glitch. I learned how to trust in my team’s resilience, how to adapt when things don’t go as planned, and how to embrace the unexpected. The blackout wasn’t a failure—it was a turning point. And in leadership, those turning points are where true growth happens.

photo by Beth Glisson

So, don’t fear failure. Lean into it. Trust your team, stay adaptable, and let those off-script moments teach you more than success ever could. Because in the end, it’s not about perfection—it’s about creating something real, something unforgettable.