When a colleague teaching an intro to technology course approached me about her students’ interest in learning about AI and asked if I could teach it, I was excited. I developed a five-session unit centered around business development with an AI co-founder. What I discovered surprised me, and has implications for how we might think about preparing students for an AI-integrated future.

We tend to see failure as an endpoint: a closed door, a dead end, a signal to turn around and try something else. For much of my life, that’s exactly how I viewed it too. A failure meant I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, or disciplined enough. It was a judgment, not just on what I did, but on who I was.

Over time, however, I’ve discovered something unexpected. Failure has often been my most reliable compass, pointing me toward paths I might never have discovered otherwise — paths that felt more like me and brought real joy into my life.

Big animals seem to get all the attention. Lions, elephants, and bears have countless books and movies dedicated to them. Don’t even get me started about whales. I’m much more interested in the small creatures of our world. Have you ever watched a slug make its slimy way across a rock, or had an aphid land on your sleeve? Is there anything cuter than a chipmunk? More fascinating than a praying mantis?

Every time I show other teachers how I’m using AI in my classroom, I can see anxiety flash across some faces. It usually happens right after they witness an AI-facilitated student conversation that shows surprising depth, personalization, and responsiveness. Sometimes they come right out and say it: “If AI can do this, what’s left for me?”