Last week, one of my students came up to my desk before class looking uncomfortable. “Have you seen the Chronicle article about graduation speakers?” she asked. The Chronicle, by the way, is Duke’s student newspaper.

She took a deep breath and then continued. “They… uh… mentioned you.”

I had, in fact, already seen the article. More specifically, I’d seen the part where the premise was essentially, “We really hope the graduation speaker isn’t Aaron Dinin.”

“Oh yeah,” I said with a grin. “I thought it was great… sent it around my family group chat.”

My student looked confused. From her perspective, the article was clearly bad news. It was critical, maybe even a little publicly embarrassing, and she felt obligated to give me a heads up before I stumbled across it myself. And while I appreciated her instinct, I actually wasn’t upset.

Not even a little.

The Story You Tell Yourself

When I explained my reaction, I pointed out something that’s easy to miss if you focus only on the article’s explicit content. Sure, the article was saying something negative — “We hope the graduation speaker isn’t Aaron Dinin” — but in order to make that negative assertion, they first had to consider me as someone who could plausibly be the graduation speaker.

That alone is… well… kind of remarkable.

Duke is one of the most prestigious universities in the world. And it’s had some wildly accomplished commencement speakers over the years. The past few have been people like Grant Hill, Jerry Seinfeld, and Coach K. Heck… when I graduated 20-ish years ago, the speaker was the president of Chile.

Simply put, Duke’s commencement speakers are usually individuals with extraordinary accolades and global recognition. I’m nowhere close. But being mentioned at all, even in a dismissive way, still means I’m somewhere in the conversation.

As a result, even though my student saw the article and interpreted it as something negative, when I saw it, I viewed it as a small but meaningful signal I’m at least heading in a good direction. And that difference in interpretation is important in every story we choose to tell ourselves.

What Success Actually Looks Like

We tend to think of success as a clean, upward trajectory. You do good work, people recognize it, and eventually you arrive at a point where the outcomes feel obviously positive.

But real success is much messier than that. It often includes moments where your name shows up in places you didn’t expect, and not always in the most flattering ways. It includes criticism, skepticism, and, occasionally, public commentary that’s hard to stomach.

On the surface, those kinds of things can seem like failure. But, when understood properly, they’re not actually signals you’re failing. They’re signals you’re participating in something meaningful enough for people to have opinions about.

Anyone who reaches a certain level of visibility experiences this. And it’s not just public figures. People doing work that matters at a high level almost always become visible enough to attract disagreement, whether that’s on the world stage or just within an organization. Whatever the case, visibility leads to a kind of criticism that’s almost always part of the path toward success.

To be clear, nothing I’m writing here is meant to imply criticism is inherently positive or that every negative comment is secretly a compliment. Sometimes criticism is justified and should be used to make important changes. But, other times, what looks like negativity is actually evidence you’ve reached a point where your work is being noticed, discussed, and, yes, occasionally dismissed.

In other words, if you’re never being criticized, don’t assume you’re doing everything right. If anything, not being criticized is probably a sign that not enough people are paying attention.

The Criticism You’re Avoiding

For this week’s failure challenge, I’d like you to find a piece of work you’ve been hesitating to share.

It could be something at work, a project you’ve been developing, an idea you’ve been sitting on, or even something as simple as speaking up in a meeting or class. Whatever it is, ask yourself a slightly uncomfortable question:

Have I been holding back because I don’t want to be criticized?

If the answer is yes, you’re not alone. Most of us instinctively avoid situations where we might be judged, dismissed, or misunderstood. But as frustrating as criticism can be, it’s also one of the clearest signals that what you’re doing is visible enough to matter.

So this week, I’d like you to do one small thing that increases the chances someone might see your work and disagree with you.

Share the idea. Submit the manuscript. Speak up when you’d normally stay quiet.

FYI… chances are, nothing dramatic will happen. But there’s also a chance someone will push back, question you, or interpret your work in a way you didn’t expect. While that might feel like failure in the moment, it’s often the kind of failure that tells you you’re moving in the right direction.