When I was 18, my father tried to get me into the plumber’s union. He was trying to help because I had no direction and no mechanical skills. He reckoned that having a trade would be a good thing for my career and figured I’d learn what I needed to know along the way.

But the plumber’s union wasn’t the first try at getting me to become an adult. My girlfriend’s father had tried getting me into the carpenter’s union, and my father had previously attempted to get me into the electrician’s union.

At the carpenter's union, they took me out for a few hours to work with some of the regulars on a local site. They were not doing anything but pounding nails into a large area that needed sheets of plywood hammered down for a new floor.

The carpenters had some idea that I might not be an ideal candidate when one of them gave me a hammer, and I studied it the way you might look at a curious seashell you found on the beach. I looked at it from several angles, ran my fingers over the double prong claws and the head of the hammer. I nodded my head and then handed it back to the gentleman that gave it to me. "Nice." Was all I said.

"It’s yours to use for the day."

"Oh," I said, feeling a grapefruit-sized lump form in my throat.

In the time it took this guy to hammer three sheets down completely I was still casting for which would be the lucky first nail I'd be introducing to its new home. I finally found the fortunate one and was gently tapping it into the plywood by holding the head of the hammer—being ever so careful not to hit the nail too hard. I’d had experiences in the past where my desire to hit a nail conflicted with its destiny to fly across the room. I did not want a repeat of that, so my patented tapping technique was the method of choice. I'd probably had hit the nail fifty or sixty times, and it was already nearly a quarter of an inch into the plywood when my mentor came over.

"What are you doing?"

It was an excellent question. I considered his reason for asking and assumed he was fascinated with my approach to hammering and wanted to learn. I began explaining why the particular nail I’d chosen was the best first nail, the history of my tapping technique, and …

At the electrician’s union, my time wasn't quite as long with them as it was with the carpenter's. When they asked if I had any experience with electricity, I explained in great detail the contents of my seventh-grade report on Ben Franklin's discovery of it, and my freshman year Magnus opus on Thomas Edison.

The plumber’s union (perhaps warned by the other unions) gave me an aptitude test first. Afterward, they walked me out, and my father was there to greet me. "How'd it go?" He asked.

"They told me I could fill a tub unassisted but should be supervised when flushing a toilet," I informed him.

It wasn’t until I got to college (since the trades thing hadn’t worked out) that I found something I was fascinated with, good at, and eager to excel in. While my grades in other courses were okay, my grades in psychology were stellar. I devoured the articles on the topic, wrote papers that deepened my understanding of nuanced issues, and volunteered for working on faculty projects left and right. I’d found what I was good at and drawn to. That was decades ago, and I still feel the same way.

Had I not failed in the trades I wouldn’t have found where I belong. My failures pointed me in the direction I needed to go.

What I’ve learned from working with thousands of people trying to find themselves is that to "fail" is the First Attempt In Learning. When we are looking to become part of something greater it isn’t likely we’ll hit the nail on the head when we first start out (all puns intended). We’re likely to learn what isn’t working first before we learn what will. Think of it like a maze we are lost in. We only find out which way to go when we figure out what doesn't work.

In my work on hope, I've learned that hope is the only positive emotion that requires negativity or uncertainty to get activated. In other words, failure can be the necessary ingredient for hope to emerge. When something doesn’t work out it is your First Attempt In Learning what will.

My 9th grade paper on Edison opened with his quote that seems to say it all: "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."

Dr. Dan Tomasulo is a core faculty member for the Spirituality Mind Body Institute (SMBI), Teachers College, Columbia University. Honored by Sharecare as one of the top 10 online influencers on the issue of depression he authors the daily column, Ask the Therapist, for PsychCentral.com, and developed the Dare to be Happy experiential workshops for Kripalu. His next book is "Learned Hopefulness,". For more information visit www.DanTomasulo.com.