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The Grace to Fail: My MBA Journey (Part 3)

Jun 17, 2026

8 min

Sue Pimento

I have a confession to make.


My wife Bonnie and I are addicts. Not the kind that requires an intervention, exactly, but close. We are addicted to home improvement. We are always planning the next upgrade, the next project, the next thing to tear apart and make better. It gives us genuine pleasure and a profound sense of accomplishment. Bonnie leads most of these endeavours. She is remarkably capable with power tools and can pull off a tool belt like she is strutting down a Home Depot runway (aisle). Our shared obsession has even spawned a series of Facebook posts called the 2 Capable Women, where we document everything from felling trees to the deeply humbling art of Ikea assembly.


So there we were, driving in traffic, and Bonnie was telling me about her next project: removing the circa-1960 wood panelling and replacing it with modern shiplap. Mid-conversation, she went quiet for a moment and said, almost to herself, “I guess I need to allow myself the grace to fail.”


I nearly drove off the road.


You must understand something about Bonnie. She is a self-declared perfectionist. Not casually. She is committed to being a perfectionist at being a perfectionist. So, hearing those words come out of her mouth, unprompted, while discussing a renovation project, was like hearing your accountant quote Oprah. It stopped me completely.


The truth has a certain ring to it. I heard that bell loud and clear.


Because sometimes wisdom does not arrive in a lecture hall or a leadership book or a TED talk. Sometimes it arrives in a car, in traffic, from the person sitting next to you holding a coffee and thinking about shiplap.


That phrase has not left me since.


Many of us do this. We replay mistakes endlessly, convinced that self-criticism is somehow productive. We lie awake revisiting conversations and missteps, assuming that if we beat ourselves up long enough, we will emerge wiser. All we accomplish is a thorough self-beating followed by self-flagellation. Lots of noise. Zero progress. Zero calories burned.


This is not just a problem for people climbing mountains or starting businesses. It plays out in

perfectly ordinary moments. You send an email and immediately wish you had worded it differently. You make a comment at dinner that lands wrong and spend three days replaying it. You make a small error at work and carry it around like luggage for a week. The inner courtroom convenes regardless. Most of us are not failing spectacularly. We are just living, occasionally getting things slightly wrong, and treating that as evidence of something deeply and permanently wrong with us.


It is not. It is just Tuesday.


I have been thinking about this a lot lately because I am in the middle of my MBA at the Sprott School of Business. I wrote about My MBA at age 69 in Part I and Part II. Back in graduate school after four decades in the workforce, opportunities to feel uncomfortable, uncertain, and occasionally like you have wandered into the wrong building are plentiful.


A recent assignment on crafting Team Charters and enhancing my leadership skills inspired me to write a personal manifesto for my graduate studies and to take a closer look at myself. You can read mine here. While working through it, I made a surprising discovery. Most of the commitments I was making to myself had nothing to do with school. They were about life.


Read the instructions carefully. Ask for help sooner. Pay attention to what your emotions are trying to tell you. Trust your experience. Hold yourself to your own standards. And this one, which stopped me cold, and sounded very familiar: Allow yourself the grace to fail.


There was that bell again.


Those six words turned out to be the most important thing I wrote. Not because failure is something to celebrate, but because the willingness to risk it is the price of admission for virtually everything worth doing.


Failure is not a topic most of us rush toward. It is about as pleasant as stubbing your toe in the dark. Yet every meaningful thing I have ever done required me to risk it. Starting a new career. Leading a sales team. Launching a business. Climbing a mountain. Writing a book. Going back to school at 69. None of it came with guarantees. All of it came with uncertainty, mistakes, and moments where I genuinely wondered whether I had lost my mind. The jury is still out on some of those.


The irony is that failure and growth are inseparable. Dweck (2006) found that people who view setbacks as learning opportunities rather than evidence of inadequacy are more likely to persevere and ultimately succeed. Duckworth (2016) agreed, and in Grit, one of my favourite books, long-term success depends less on talent and more on the willingness to keep going after things fall apart. Neff (2023) added that people who respond to failure with self-compassion rather than harsh self-judgment show greater improvement and are more likely to try again. The friction produced by failure is often exactly what generates learning, but only if we give ourselves enough grace to stay in the game.


I see this everywhere. Professionals are staying in jobs they no longer enjoy because starting over feels too risky. Retirees hesitate to try something new because they might not be good at it right away. Students who will not ask a question because they do not want to appear uninformed. And if I am being honest, I see it in myself. Every time I hesitate to contribute to class because everyone else seems younger and sharper. Every time I catch myself wondering whether I belong in the room.


One exercise has helped me enormously. When I catch myself spiralling into negative self-talk, I imagine my five-year-old self standing beside me, listening. Would that little girl feel encouraged? Not a chance. So why do we think inner dialogue helps us?


A recent example: I made a point in a meeting that got a polite nod and complete silence. You know the silence. The one that could mean anything from “interesting” to “what on earth did she just say?” I replayed that moment for two days. Eventually, I asked a colleague how the meeting had gone, and she said she barely remembered it. The forensic investigation was conducted entirely in my own head.


I am not suggesting we lower our standards. We should hold ourselves accountable, learn from our mistakes, and strive to do better. But there is a meaningful difference between accountability and cruelty. Between reflection and rumination. Between learning from a mistake, and building a summer cottage on top of it, and checking in every long weekend.


I worry about what this means for the generation behind us.


Research by Professor Gabriel Rubin at Montclair State University found that despite living in one of the safest periods in history, Gen Z perceives risk virtually everywhere (Rubin, 2023). They have grown up knowing that at any moment, someone has a phone. One stumble, one terrible dance move, and the clip is posted before you catch your breath. Permanent, searchable, shareable public failure is something entirely new, and the consequences are showing up in surprising places.


Monocle magazine noted young people standing completely still on nightclub dance floors, phones in hand, unable to lose themselves to the music. The club has become a stage, and the crowd has become the content. Instead of dancing, people film. Instead of connection, there is performance.


This is not a small thing. Dancing is how humans have always signalled availability, built trust, and found each other. It requires a willingness to look slightly absurd. If we have raised a generation so terrified of being captured mid-stumble that they will not move to the music, we have handed surveillance culture a victory it does not deserve. Calculated risks lead to new opportunities, foster innovation, and teach lessons that comfort never could (Rubin, 2023). Risk aversion makes short-term sense. As a way of life, it quietly closes doors that were never meant to stay shut.


Give yourself and the young people around you, explicit permission to be unpolished in public. To dance badly. To say the wrong thing and survive it. The phone will always be there. So, fortunately, will the music.


Here is what I keep learning inside this MBA: wisdom arrives disguised as failure. The assignments that challenge me teach me more than the ones that come easily. The questions I most resist asking are usually the most important. I did not expect graduate school to teach me this. Then again, I did not expect to be here at seventy.


I no longer think in terms of Wins and Losses. Those categories are too simple. I think in terms of Wisdom and Learning. Success builds confidence. Setbacks build insight. Both move us forward.

Read that again.


So the next time you find yourself at two in the morning replaying something you said three days ago, ask whether your five-year-old self would find your internal monologue useful. If the answer is no, offer yourself a little grace.


Which brings me back to Bonnie.


Last weekend, she pulled off that 1960s panelling. Every last piece. It was messy and uncertain, and at several points she was unsure what she would find underneath. There were surprises. There were moments of doubt. She kept going anyway. By the end of the weekend, the shiplap was going up, clean and bright and exactly right.


She did not do it perfectly. She did it anyway. And it is beautiful.


That is the whole lesson, right there, delivered by a woman with a pry bar and a tool belt, on a weekend in June.


Failure is not the enemy. Most of the time it is just fear wearing a funny hat. And if you are lucky, it will teach you something genuinely worth knowing. Sometimes it comes from a research paper. Sometimes it comes from your wife, in a car thinking out loud about shiplap.


Either way, listen for the bell.


Writing my manifesto was one of the most clarifying things I did this year. Not because it solved anything, but because it forced me to decide, on paper, who I was going to be when things got hard. I want that for you, too.


So I created the ReWirement Manifesto: a simple template for anyone navigating a new chapter, a big transition, or simply a Tuesday that did not go as planned. It is not a bucket list. It is not a vision board. It is a set of honest commitments you make to yourself, in your own words, that you can return to when your inner courtroom calls you to order.


Download your free ReWirement Manifesto template here.


Fill it in. Keep it somewhere you can find it. And the next time you are staring at a wall of 1960s panelling, wondering if you are in over your head, remember: the grace to fail is not a consolation prize. It is the whole point.


Don’t Retire…Re-Wire!


Sue


My Book is Now Available for Pre-Order

I hope you will consider pre-ordering a copy of Your Retirement Reset for you, a friend or loved one. It's available September 8, 2026 published by ECW Press - You can now order at Indigo or Amazon. And if you love supporting Canadian booksellers, please also check with your local independent bookstore. Most can easily order it for you.


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Sue Pimento

Sue Pimento

Founder | CEO

Writer, author & presenter focused on financial literacy and retirement strategies. I advocate for the health, wealth & purpose for retirees

Public speaking & trainingFitness and WellnessBankingPension ReformInterest Rates
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Retiring Solo: Table for One? featured image

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Learning to Occupy the World as One Then there are all the little firsts. The first restaurant. The first trip. Maybe, eventually, the first date. You walk into a restaurant and say, "Table for one." The host smiles brightly. "Right this way," and off you go, past the tables by the window, past the cozy booth, and around the corner to a tiny table directly outside the noisy kitchen door. Apparently, this is where they keep the single people. "Table for one" can be funny until you remember that, for some people, it used to be a table for two. But I wouldn't give up restaurants because of it. Sit at the bar. Bring a book. Become a regular somewhere. Ask another solo friend to join you sometimes, and other times don't. Take yourself somewhere nice because good food and a decent table aren't benefits reserved for couples. I especially wouldn't overlook the neighbourhood diner or watering hole. These places often become little communities. 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More importantly, create a life in which your absence would leave a small hole in someone else's day. And if the restaurant tries to seat you beside the kitchen, smile and ask for the table by the window. The couples get the dishwasher. Surely we can give the solos the good table. Don’t retire... ReWire! Sue My Book is Available for Order: I hope you will consider ordering a copy of Your Retirement Reset for yourself, a friend, or someone you love. Published by ECW Press and is available through Indigo or Amazon and McNally Robinson. If you like supporting Canadian booksellers, check with your local independent bookstore too. Most can order it.

Why the retirement plan that worked for your parents is failing millions of Canadians featured image

4 min

Why the retirement plan that worked for your parents is failing millions of Canadians

Last month, I found a jar of mustard at the back of my fridge with a best-before date of 2019. It looked and smelled fine. My wife watched me unscrew the lid like I was about to eat gas-station sushi, and I threw the mustard away. I wish Canadians gave their retirement plans the same hard look, because most of the advice we hand people over 55 carries a best-before date of 1990, the year my parents' retirement began. They met at the grocery chain where they both worked, and each left with a defined-benefit pension: a monthly cheque that arrived for the rest of their lives, regardless of what the stock market did. Their employer bore the investment risk. Their job was to show up at the retirement party and eat the cake. That plan stood on three legs: a workplace pension, CPP and Old Age Security, and a paid-off house you would eventually sell to trade down. In 1991, a 65-year-old Canadian man could expect to live about 16 more years and a woman about 20. A plan built for that stretch did its job. Look at those legs today. Only 37.7 per cent of paid workers in Canada belonged to a workplace pension plan of any kind in 2023, according to Statistics Canada, and coverage has been declining for two decades. For most people, the cheque that used to arrive like the newspaper has been replaced by a statement that reads like a horoscope. CPP and OAS were never meant to carry anyone alone. That leaves the house. A 2023 CPP Investments survey found that only 45 per cent of Canadians have a financial plan for retirement, yet about three in four Canadians aged 55 to 74 own their homes. For millions of families, the house was the plan: buy it, pay it off, and burn the mortgage papers in a roasting pan. The old playbook still has one instruction for that asset, unchanged since 1990: sell, move, and hope the condo is cheaper. Most like to stay in their neighbourhood. In Toronto, they usually can't afford to. The calendar changed, too. My parents' plan was built for that 15-to-20-year stretch. Today, Canadian financial planning standards give a 65-year-old couple an even chance of one living to 94, a retirement closer to 30 years. That is about 10 extra years of groceries, property tax and dental work, and nobody gave the plan a raise to cover them. Larry Fink, who runs BlackRock, put his finger on it in his 2024 letter to investors: we have worked hard to help people live longer and much less hard to help them afford those extra years. Those years arrived just as the guaranteed pension cheque was disappearing, a change Fink called "a shift from financial certainty to financial uncertainty." When the man in charge of the world's largest pile of other people's money says so, I'd put down the mustard. Our system does a fine job of helping people pile up money, then goes quiet the moment they need that pile to become a paycheque. We hand people a savings target, a risk questionnaire and an RRSP deadline. On their last day of work, we hand them a bouquet. How much do you withdraw? Which account first? What happens to your OAS when your RRIF minimum pushes you past the clawback threshold? Where does the house fit? The old plan shrugs. The strain shows. Statistics Canada reports that among Canadians aged 65 to 74 who worked in 2022, almost half did so out of necessity. After a late-life divorce, my mother returned to part-time work at a grocery store. She had done everything the old plan asked of her. The usual reply is that people just need to save more. Telling a 72-year-old to save more is like telling a marathoner at kilometre 40 to train harder. An up-to-date plan opens with the question that matters at 65: how will this money cover the bills for 30 years? Home equity goes on the balance sheet at the first meeting, pulled from the drawer marked "emergencies and inheritance." Ninety-one per cent of Canadians say they want to live independently in their own homes for as long as possible, so a good plan offers ways to do that beyond a For Sale sign. And the industry that spent 40 years teaching people to save owes them the same energy in how to spend it. I have a modest proposal for the banks. Every February, you run RRSP season, complete with sailboat commercials. Give us an RRIF season to match, with the same budget, and put a drawdown plan in front of every client who turns 65. And while you are at it, switch the word "savings" to "spending" or "paycheque" on our bank account. Take your retirement plan out of the back of the fridge and check the date on the lid. If it says 1990, you know where it goes. My wife will be happy to show you the garbage. This Opinion Article was published in the Business Section of the Saturday Star and online Toronto Star on October 17, 2026, 

When Two Retirements Collide featured image

8 min

When Two Retirements Collide

All this talk lately about Trump and Carney squaring off has made me reflect on matters closer to home. My living room has never quite reached the level of a televised leaders’ debate, but retirement has a way of turning minor domestic disagreements into full parliamentary sessions. And unlike politicians, you can’t call a recess and fly to Florida. For years, we’ve been sold a lovely picture of retirement. The alarm clock disappears. The kids have finally stopped treating your house like a storage locker. There are leisurely breakfasts, travel, golf, grandchildren, and coffee on the patio on a Tuesday morning simply because you can. And there is your spouse. Every. Single. Day. For many couples, this is wonderful. Even in the happiest relationships, though, somewhere around the third consecutive Tuesday morning together, a thought may quietly surface: Have you always chewed like that? We spend years trying to figure out whether we have enough money to retire. We calculate pensions, RRSPs, CPP, home equity, and how long our savings might last. We consult financial planners and make budgets. Some of us even build colour-coded spreadsheets, which I think is taking things a little far (just saying). Far fewer couples spend time figuring out how they will retire together, and that’s a different calculation altogether. Two Retirement Plans before One During our working years, most couples have something that retirement quietly removes: separation. You go to work. I go to work. You have your colleagues, routines, frustrations, and responsibilities, and I have mine. We leave each other in the morning, collect a day’s worth of stories, and come home with something to talk about. Retirement can fold two fairly independent lives into the same house and the same calendar, usually by the first Monday. Research backs this up. A German study of 2,117 couples, drawing on more than 30 years of national survey data, found that on average both partners grew more satisfied with life around retirement. The changes were also highly correlated within couples, so when one partner’s satisfaction slipped, the other’s tended to slip right along with it (Weber et al., 2021). Your retirement becomes my retirement, whether I applied for the position or not. Then come the expectations. One person has been dreaming of travelling for 20 years. The other would happily never set foot in an airport again. One wants to move, and one wants to stay. One wants to golf four days a week. The other thought retirement meant finally doing things together. One wants to help the kids financially. The other believes the kids are 43 and it may be time they gave adulthood a whirl. Even the timing can cause friction. One of you retires in June, the other has three years left before the pension kicks in, and suddenly someone is home all day reorganizing the spice drawer. Research on how couples make retirement decisions suggests that the way the call gets made, and whether both people feel they had a say, shapes how satisfied they are with retirement afterward (Szinovacz & Davey, 2005). The relationship you bring into retirement also comes along for the ride. Old patterns of closeness and conflict travel with you like carry-on luggage, and retirement simply changes the scenery around them (Davey & Szinovacz, 2004). That makes me wonder whether every couple needs two retirement plans before they have one. What does your retirement look like? What does mine look like? Where do they overlap? Those questions may matter more than whether we can afford the Viking cruise. And Then There’s Money Of course there is. Money has always had an extraordinary ability to walk into a perfectly pleasant conversation and leave with a baseball bat. In retirement it gets even more emotionally charged, because our financial psychology shifts. During our working years, another paycheque is always coming. In retirement, many of us start drawing down assets we spent decades building, which can feel completely sensible to one spouse and mildly terrifying to the other. This is where FORO, Fear of Running Out, can pull up a chair at breakfast. One partner sees $800,000 as security. The other sees the same $800,000 as a number that can only get smaller. Suddenly a $12,000 trip to Italy is carrying a lot of luggage: safety, control, mortality, and whether 93-year-old you might someday need that money. Then health can change the equation again. A spouse gets sick. Mobility changes. One person becomes a caregiver, and independence starts to slip away. Retirement plans that once looked beautifully aligned suddenly don’t, and that is a lot of change for any relationship to absorb. Apparently, Fighting Isn’t Necessarily Bad Three very different thinkers have helped me rethink the whole subject: an ancient Chinese general, a modern conflict facilitator, and a psychologist with a lab full of arguing couples. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War is about military strategy, yet one of its most enduring ideas travels surprisingly well into marriage: understand the situation, understand the other person, and don’t waste resources on battles that don’t need to be fought. Priya Parker comes at conflict from almost the opposite direction in her new book, The Art of Fighting (2026). Her work explores how conflict can strengthen relationships when people engage with it well. She calls this idea “healthy heat.” Some difficult conversations need enough heat to burn through to what actually matters. Then there is psychologist John Gottman, who studied couples over time and found something I love: happy couples don’t all fight the same way (Gottman, 1993). His research identified three stable types. Validators calmly talk their disagreements through. Avoiders would much prefer to change the subject. Volatile couples argue loudly and passionately and keep their marriages intact anyway. The couples headed for trouble were the hostile ones, along with the ones who had quietly checked out. So you and I don’t have to argue like the nice couple down the street. They look exhausted and bored, to be frank. What seems to matter is whether we can disagree and still hold on to respect, affection, and the sense that we are on the same side. That calls for something to sit beside the retirement financial plan. The Retirement Rules of Engagement 1. Figure out what you’re really fighting about. Before digging in your heels, ask why this matters so much to each of you. The argument about selling the house may really be about losing independence. A fight over spending can be tangled up with FORO. Too much golf might be about purpose for one person and loneliness for the other. And the argument about money may have very little to do with the actual numbers. Once the real issue is on the table, at least you’re having the right argument. 2. Choose your battles. Sun Tzu would make an excellent retirement consultant. Some things matter enormously, and others really don’t. If your spouse has loaded the dishwasher incorrectly for 37 years and everyone is still alive, victory may no longer be strategically important. 3. Keep the heat healthy. Disagreement has a place in a strong relationship. Parker’s idea of healthy heat gives us permission to have uncomfortable conversations without treating the discomfort as proof that the relationship is in trouble. Say the difficult thing. Ask the awkward question. Then stay curious about the answer. 4. Remember who is sitting across from you. This is the person you chose to build a life with. Opposing counsel bills by the hour. Gottman’s research is especially useful here, because hostility and emotional disengagement are the real warning signs. Anger passes. Contempt has a nasty habit of moving into the spare room. 5. Build some mine, yours, and ours. Two people don’t need to become one organism to have a good retirement. Separate interests, friendships, and activities give each partner purpose and independence, plus fresh material for dinner conversation. Then build the shared things on purpose too: travel, grandchildren, exercise, volunteering, cottage time, date nights, or whatever makes retirement feel like ours. A little absence can still make the heart grow fonder. 6. Know when you’re stuck. If you keep having the same argument, if conversations regularly turn hostile or contemptuous, or if one of you has simply stopped engaging, outside help may be worth it. A couples therapist can untangle relationship patterns. A financial planner can put real numbers around money fears. A retirement coach can help when identity and purpose are causing friction. Sometimes the most useful person at the kitchen table is the third one. What About Grey Divorce? Grey divorce is worth a few minutes here, because ending a marriage later in life is especially hard to recover from financially, and it ripples through the whole family, right down to the grandchildren who now spend Christmas in two places. The Canadian story, however, is less dramatic than the headlines suggest, partly because so many of those headlines are American. In the United States, adults 50 and older made up 8% of all divorces in 1990 and nearly 40% in the latest figures, and their divorce rate doubled between 1990 and 2010 before levelling off (Westrick-Payne & Brown, 2024). Canada never had that boom. Statistics Canada reports that the divorce rate among Canadians aged 50 and older rose 26% between 1991 and 2006, from 4.2 to 5.3 divorces per 1,000 married people, and has since remained relatively stable (Statistics Canada, 2022). Grey divorce remains considerably less common here than divorce among younger adults, so if you’ve read that it has doubled, you were reading about Americans. Still, divorce at 65 is financially different from divorce at 35. There are fewer working years to rebuild. One household becomes two. Housing, retirement income, pensions, estate plans, and family relationships can all take a hit, and women tend to feel it most. A Statistics Canada study that tracked Canadians from their mid-50s into their 70s found that divorced women kept about 70% of their family income, compared with about 87% for women who stayed married (Mehdi, 2023). The study concluded that divorce lowers living standards in retirement more than the death of a spouse does. Till Death Do Us Part Is Longer Than It Used to Be A couple retiring in their 60s could easily have another 20 or 30 years together. That’s an extraordinary gift. It’s also a very long time to argue over the thermostat. Our health will change, our finances may shift, and our interests will wander off in directions neither of us saw coming. The people we were when we walked away from our careers won’t necessarily be the people we are at 75, 80, or 90, so our relationships need room to grow with us. So pick the battles worth fighting, bring a little healthy heat to the ones that matter, and concede the rest, especially the dishwasher. Thirty years of retirement works out to more than 1,500 Tuesdays together. It would be a shame to spend them arguing about the forks. Don’t retire. ReWire. Sue P.S. Retiring solo? Don’t get too comfortable. Many of the same issues show up with adult children, friends, and family, along with everyone’s sudden assumption that you now have all kinds of free time. I’ll tackle that one in two weeks. My Book is Available for Order: I hope you will consider ordering a copy of Your Retirement Reset for yourself, a friend, or someone you love. Published by ECW Press and is available through Indigo or Amazon and McNally Robinson. If you like supporting Canadian booksellers, check with your local independent bookstore too. Most can order it.

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