When a good decision has a bad result: The secret ingredient to moving on

It was third grade and all that mattered was getting that dang ball out of that dang tree.

For an 8-year-old, recess is precious. After a morning of impatient listening and sitting too still, kids are finally released like wild dogs into the great outdoors. It's 30 sacred minutes of freedom, getting loose, getting sweaty, and sometimes, like on this particular day, getting into trouble.

Of course, no one wants to get into trouble at recess. A ruined recess is a ruined day. It means a lot to a kid, especially this kid, who was shockingly better than most of his colleagues at playing football and scoring multiple touchdowns in a typical Washington Elementary game. At least, that's how I remember it.

What I don't remember about this day is how the dang ball got into the dang tree. Was it an errant punt or a grievous overthrow? Whatever it was, the game was no longer football. It was "Who can get the ball down?"

One thing my old downtown elementary schoolyard had no shortage of was rocks and bricks. Broken bricks that had no business on our fine field, but had become expected obstacles for our crew. And, perhaps without thinking too deeply about it, I decided to pick up a brick and hurl it upward to free the ball and end this recess as a hero.

Yet, what goes up must come down, and come down with some ferocity if it's a brick. When the brick landed on a girl's head, it felt like I'd made the worst decision ever. Or, had I?

Good choices, bad outcomes

Thankfully, the girl wasn't seriously injured. She had a cut and a headache and went home early. I felt rotten all afternoon. My teacher took me in front of the class and told everyone that it was a mistake. And it was. But the lesson of never doing that again was settling in. The lesson was clear: Don't throw heavy things up in the air with people around, ya dummy.

Years later, I don't beat myself up over this. But I'm quick to beat myself up over plenty of other decisions that don't go well. Part of living a good life is making good decisions. Often, the evidence of a good decision is a good outcome. But we know it's not that simple. When the outcome is bad, how should we judge the choice that led to it?

You see, my intent may have been good on that day. I wanted to get the ball out of the tree so my friends could play. Could we argue I didn't make a bad choice?

What smart, old people have to say about it

The ancient philosophers wrestled with these ideas. The Greeks and the Stoics keenly focused on where character landed in the question. Seneca said, "A good character, when established, does not depend on chance." In a way, being a good person can't be solely determined by results, but by the virtues that led to the results.

Now, I think the ancients would also nab me for the lack of that crucial virtue—wisdom. Aristotle said, "We must act according to the right rule, and the right rule is the one that is determined by practical wisdom." Well, I hadn't learned the practical wisdom of not throwing bricks into the sky. This was an 8-year-old character flaw, exposed as a gash in an innocent peer's forehead. 

Looking back, my choice was bad. It wasn't morally wrong, but it wasn't wise. These things get stickier, though, as we grow.

How to be right even when it turns out wrong

Now, some thirty-plus years older, I've gleaned (slightly) more life wisdom. I make lots of decisions, many of which aren't morally wrong and seem to be wise, yet still don't work out favorably. Unfortunately, this exposes another flaw—self-contempt—for not being able to make the thing right. For failing to live up to my ideal. 

This, at least, is the real growth opportunity for me, and if you're like me, for you. We live in a world famished for grace, for others and ourselves. Even with flawless intention and execution, things fall apart because our world just doesn't work right. I tend to focus on my lack, or strain to discover what I didn't calculate. I agonize over the miserable result, and I become miserable as a result.

What if, instead, as I wallowed in these failures, I believed there was a grace available? And not just available, but sufficient for me and my lack of control? That would be a freedom with the potential to untangle my weary soul.

Today, I'll strive to make good decisions. Moral, wise, and loving. The test will be finding grace in any outcome. I hope you'll find that grace for yourself, too.