When I was young, I always treated “setbacks” as a label for failure, believing that avoiding falls meant saving face. But as I walked further along the path, I gradually came to realize that setbacks are more like a vaccine—they sting when injected, but what they leave behind isn’t just a scar; it’s an ability to withstand future shocks.

Setbacks are frightening because they are so direct. They don’t sugarcoat or comfort you; they simply shine a light on your blind spots: those self-righteous judgments, those unnoticed biases, those illusions that “effort alone is enough.” Once reality pulls back the curtain, you have no choice but to face yourself. This process is uncomfortable, but it is real. That’s precisely why setbacks teach you proportion and humility better than any theory ever could.

And so I’ve come to accept that old saying: only what you experience can you truly transcend. Reading books and attending lectures can give you a framework, but only after being knocked around by life, rejected by decisions, and tested by relationships do you learn—in your very bones—what your limits are and where your fallback lies. The confidence you gain in smooth sailing can’t withstand a single big wave; but the steadiness forged through hardship will hold you firm when the next storm comes.

Nietzsche once said: “What does not kill me makes me stronger.” When I first read this as a young man, I took it as a bold declaration. Only later did I understand its warmth. Strength isn’t about not feeling pain anymore; it’s about understanding where the pain comes from and knowing you can get back up after it passes. People who have been vaccinated aren’t guaranteed never to get sick, but they know how to take care of themselves and how to minimize the damage when illness strikes. The immunity of life, too, is built up gradually through repeated discomfort.

Now, when I encounter a setback, I often give myself a few minutes of silence first, then ask: What will this pain teach me? Sometimes the answer is practical—a technical shortcoming. Sometimes it’s a flaw in my thinking. More often than not, it’s a reminder to adjust my expectations and boundaries. After the pain subsides, you find that you no longer magnify every misstep into a disaster. Instead, you treat it as a small-scale test—feel the sting, record it, improve, and move on.

Experience doesn’t make you fearless; it only makes you better at enduring. Pain is inevitable, but immunity is real. Learning to treat setbacks as part of your training may not make life easier, but it allows us to maintain direction and strength even when life is hard.