The other day, I was mindlessly scrolling when a video stopped me cold—a baby bear and its momma climbing a dangerously steep, snow-covered mountainside.
Momma made it up easily. The baby… not so much. It would climb, slip, and tumble backward, over and over, sometimes so far down I gasped out loud. My heart broke for that little bear. Just when it seemed hopeless—when I thought I was about to witness tragedy—the baby flung out a paw and caught hold of a single, bare rock.
And then, something changed.
You could almost feel the grit rise up in its tiny body. With a fierce, unshakable will to live, the baby climbed again—this time with relentless focus—until it reached the top, where Momma waited. Off they went into the trees, together at last.
I cried. Not because it was cute (though it was) but because of what it meant: the pure essence of grit. Grit is the bridge between self-preservation and perseverance. Self-preservation is instinctual—it makes you grab the rock so you don’t fall to your death. Grit is what comes after, the soul’s voice that says, “I’m not done. Keep climbing.” Survival instinct might save your life in the moment, but grit is what carries you to safety, to growth, and ultimately, to the life you want.
Grit is courage and resolve. It’s the spiritual toughness that doesn’t live on the surface. It sits deep in your chest, somewhere near the heart, and only wakes when life demands more from you than you thought you had to give.
I think of it every time I trail run. My legs don’t get me to the finish line. My lungs don’t either. It’s my soul. My brain screams, “What the hell are you doing? Stop!” But my soul whispers, “Keep going. I have to do this.”
Life hands us moments like that baby bear’s climb—moments when quitting is easy, almost seductive. The rational mind offers every excuse: It’s too hard. You’ll never make it. Why bother? And quitting takes zero effort. But the price of quitting is steep: disappointment, discouragement, and the ache of an unmet desire.
To persevere is to take the road less traveled, paved with exhaustion, doubt, and fear. But on the other side of that road—whether it’s a race finish line, a diploma, a healed body, or a dream realized—you discover the real prize: the unshakable knowing that you can count on your own soul to get you there.
I watched my brother do this after a horrific motorcycle accident. A doctor told him he would never walk again. He could have believed that and surrendered to a wheelchair. Instead, he listened to the voice inside—the one that said, “Get up. ”And he did. Today, he walks with only a slight limp, living proof that the soul knows what the mind refuses to believe.
Fear keeps many of us from the hard road. We avoid risk. We stay safe. We confuse existing with living. But living—really living—requires that we reach for that extra, the hidden reserve inside us that shows up only when invited.
And like any muscle, grit grows with practice. We practice by doing hard things. By choosing the hill, the risk, the challenge that scares us. By saying yes when our brain says no.
Frost said it best:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Take the hard road.
Catch the rock.
Keep climbing.
The view from the top
will stay with you forever. 🖤
