The Release of Failing Upward: A Rollercoaster of Fear, Gratitude, and Hope
I didn’t expect to feel this exposed.
When I first sat down to write Failing Upward, it was meant to be cathartic—a way to untangle the mess of my life and find a thread of meaning. What I didn’t anticipate was the sheer vulnerability of putting it all out there. Every flaw, every mistake, every dark night of the soul… it’s all in those pages. And now, it’s no longer mine to carry alone—it belongs to anyone who picks up the book.
This isn’t my first dance with creative work. I spent over two decades as a photographer, capturing moments that told stories without a single word. But this? This is different. Photography allowed me to hide behind the lens. Writing a memoir feels like walking into a crowded room buck naked…and let me tell you, it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.
The day the book was released (last week), I couldn’t sit still. There’s a certain madness in knowing your work is now out there, ready to be loved, criticized, or—perhaps worse—ignored. I cycled through every possible emotion. Pride for having done the damn thing, doubt that it was any good, gratitude for the people who supported me along the way, and fear—crippling, overwhelming fear—that I’d let them down.
But, here’s the thing: Failing Upward was never about being perfect. It’s about the beauty of imperfection, the messy in-between, and the strength you find when life brings you to your knees. It’s about the screw-ups and stumbles that shape us, the moments that force us to rebuild, redefine, and rise.
The responses so far have been humbling. When someone messages me to say a particular story resonated with them, it hits me in a way I never expected. Strangers are seeing pieces of their own lives in mine, and that connection—that shared humanity—is why I wrote the book in the first place. Of course, not everyone will like it. Some might even hate it. That’s the risk you take when you lay your soul bare, but I’ve come to realize that criticism is a sign you’ve done something that matters. A safe book doesn’t ruffle feathers, and Failing Upward was never meant to be safe.
So, here I am, now an author…still figuring out what that means and still a little terrified every time someone tells me they’ve bought the book. But also—deep down—proud. Proud of the leap, proud of the scars, and proud of the people who’ve joined me on this chaotic, messy, beautifully flawed journey.
If you’ve read the book, thank you. If you haven’t, well, there’s always room for one more misfit on this ride. Here’s to failing upward—one stumble at a time.
With gratitude,
Matt Blum
