For the Gritty Ones

Two years after her viral TED Talk on the Power of Vulnerability, Dr. Brené Brown, began her New York Times #1 best selling book Daring Greatly with an excerpt from a 1910 speech by President Theodore Roosevelt. “The Man in the Arena,” as it’s now widely known, left a lasting impression on my generation.  

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly,…”

Even now reading this makes my heart race. They recognize and validate those of us who have what I call “a big Try”: the willingness to keep showing up and trying again, even when it’s hard, because the work matters.

The imagery of the dust, sweat and blood reminds us that our struggle is real and seen. The arena is a place of battle, but also a platform. Our fight, wins and failures are on display. In that uncomfortable vulnerability, Roosevelt’s words give us a sharp new boundary between the risk-taker and the critic. We waste no energy toward the tidy criticizer. Our imperfections don’t disqualify us – they prove we are doing the brave work.

This passage doesn’t promise success. It doesn’t inspire us with newfound confidence or some shiny opportunity. The encouragement comes from this simple truth: if the choice is between trying and failing or not trying at all, we’ve chosen the first. And though we may be bruised or shaking with fear, only the first is brave.

 Dr. Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly brought scientific weight to the near-poetry of Roosevelt’s words. Her book gave my generation new permission:

– to do the hard work even when facing resistance,

– to accept that vulnerability and failure aren’t signs of weakness, but evidence that we are growing, learning, and doing something that matters.

– and to choose carefully whose voices we let in. Not all critics are harmful—but not all deserve our attention.

After 16 years of motherhood—and the maturity those years demanded—I’ve developed a deep appreciation for people with grit.

When you buy your child a new doll, the clothes are clean, and the accessories are all where they are supposed to be. A new toy truck has spotless tires and unscratched paint. But we know that a well-loved doll or truck will not stay pristine. The young child will introduce the toy to play and impact, neglect and forceful fun. It will go through it.

And so will we.

Life does not leave anyone who is trying in mint condition. We have been - and will be - impacted in ways both brutal and beautiful. Because life is hard. It hits all of us in completely familiar, albeit unique ways.

But here’s to you – the one with grit.

You don’t have to face the arena alone. Some of us have gone before you and would love to cheer you on (and offer advice so you don’t step in cow poop that is absolutely in your arena).  

We are still in our own arena getting our butt kicked, too.  We haven’t arrived at some place of elite wisdom. We are just stubbornly refusing to stop.

We’re still learning. Still growing. Still getting knocked around. '

But we have found Hope, despite disappointment.

Faith, despite doubt and fear.

And real, lasting, JOY despite heartache.

And if you have dropped your Hope, we will trudge out into the darkness on your behalf to find it - until you are ready to carry it again.

So whether you're standing tall or barely standing—you’re welcome here.