How Hayao Miyazaki Taught Me to Fail Forward

I remember the first time I saw My Neighbor Totoro. I was in my twenties, adrift in a string of dead-end freelance gigs, and the film felt like a quiet miracle. Watching it, I felt seen in a way I hadn’t expected. Later, when I began reading about Hayao Miyazaki, I was stunned to learn that the movie had flopped at the box office. Not just flopped — it had been a complete, public failure. It barely made back its production costs, and for years, it was considered a disappointment.

That moment haunted me. The man who gave me solace and wonder had once stood in the rubble of a dream he thought would never matter. And yet, he kept going.

## Failure Was the First Draft

Miyazaki’s early career was littered with projects that never made it to the screen. He worked on anime like Future Boy Conan and Sherlock Hound, but his true passion was always in feature films. When Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind came out in 1984, it was a hit — but not enough to secure him a stable studio. Just a year later, when he co-founded Studio Ghibli, it was on shaky ground. Their first two films, Castle in the Sky and Grave of the Fireflies, didn’t perform well at the box office.

I used to think that failure meant the end of a dream. But Miyazaki treated it like the first draft — a necessary step in the process. He didn’t quit when his films didn’t make money. He didn’t stop pitching when studios said no. He simply kept building, frame by frame, even when the foundation cracked beneath him.

## The Audience Isn’t Always the Judge

When My Neighbor Totoro came out in Japan, it was paired with Grave of the Fireflies, a devastating war story. The combination was jarring — one light and whimsical, the other dark and tragic. Audiences didn’t know what to make of it. Critics were lukewarm. The film seemed to vanish.

But something strange happened. It found its audience slowly, over time. Parents showed it to their kids. Fans drew fan art. It became a quiet cultural touchstone. Miyazaki didn’t chase trends or try to force his work into the mainstream. He made what he believed in, and trusted that the right people would find it.

There’s a humility in that — a kind of faith that your work doesn’t need to be popular to be meaningful. I’ve learned that failure doesn’t always mean you did something wrong. Sometimes, it just means the world wasn’t ready.

## The Value of Staying in the Trenches

Miyazaki is famously hands-on. He doesn’t delegate easily. He’s known to reanimate entire scenes himself, to write and direct and storyboard all at once. It’s exhausting, and many of his colleagues have said he pushes too hard. But I think that stubbornness comes from a place of deep care.

He’s failed projects before — entire scripts rewritten, entire films shelved. And yet, he never stopped showing up. He didn’t wait for the perfect opportunity. He worked every day, whether the world was watching or not. There’s a kind of quiet heroism in that — the refusal to quit, even when nobody’s clapping.

I’ve found that the most painful failures are the ones that happen when you walk away too soon. Miyazaki taught me that staying in the trenches, even when things fall apart, can lead to something unexpected.

## Failure Is the Mirror You Need

One of the things I admire most about Miyazaki is how he reflects failure in his characters. Chihiro in Spirited Away isn’t a hero because she’s fearless — she’s a hero because she keeps going, even when she’s scared. She makes mistakes, she cries, she doubts. But she never gives up.

I’ve come to believe that failure is not the opposite of success — it’s part of it. It shows you what matters. It strips away the noise. It forces you to ask: why did I start this in the first place?

Miyazaki never hides the messiness of life in his films. He doesn’t sugarcoat the pain of growing up, the cost of war, or the fragility of nature. He shows it all, raw and real. And somehow, that honesty feels like hope.

## Keep Making the Movie Only You Can Make

Miyazaki has retired more than once — only to come back months later with a new idea. He says he can’t stop. That the stories won’t let him. Even when his body aches, when the deadlines pile up, when the studio worries about money — he still sits down at his desk and draws.

I’ve tried to write pieces that everyone would love. I’ve chased angles that felt safe. But the ones that stuck — the ones people still share with me years later — were the ones I wrote because I had to. The ones where I risked being misunderstood.

Miyazaki taught me that the only failure worth fearing is the one that comes from ignoring what’s inside you.

So if you’ve ever felt like you’ve failed — creatively, professionally, personally — I invite you to talk to Hayao Miyazaki on HoloDream. He won’t give you a lecture. He’ll sit with you, maybe sketch something quietly while you talk, and remind you that the world still needs your voice — even when it doesn’t seem to notice.