Tag Archives: Persistence

The Demons We All Wrestle

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“You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it.”

— Margaret Thatcher (1925–2013)
British Prime Minister, nicknamed the “Iron Lady” for her fierce persistence.

Swearing is not my thing. But right now—for once, maybe even on a stack of Bibles (to my Mother’s eternal horror)—I’m going to do it anyway. I swear that my daily demons line themselves up every night when I go to bed, watching as I lie there all peaceful like, orchestrating my next-day goals.

I see them out of the corner of my eye, leaning in, peering, looking carefully as I tap, tap my list on my phone.

And you know what? I swear, they’re waiting for me the next morning.

More often than not, they show up as soon as I start my biking, maybe because that’s how I start my day, right after coffee. I know that if I don’t bike then, I won’t bike at all. The first demon arrives before I even lace my shoes. It whispers:

“Why so early? You’ve got other things you need to do first. You can bike later.”

Nice try. But I’m on to that trick. I know that when it comes to biking, later never comes.

Another one comes at me from a different angle.

“Today? You’ve been doing this every day. You need a break. Take the day off.”

“Get behind me, Satan! I’m biking as usual.”

But get this. By mile three, another demon shows up:

“You’ll never finish.”

I keep pedaling, but the demons keep coming. By mile seven, I’m hearing:

“Yeah. Your butt sure is sore. If you keep going, it’s going to be sore as hell tomorrow.”

I keep on going. And so it goes, on and on through all the miles—10, 15, 20—riding against a whole Satanic chorus, chasing me faster and faster and faster.

Fiercely determined. Fiercely persistent. Fiercely anchored. That’s how I win the biking battle. Usually.

The next demon that hounds me is procrastination. Don’t get me wrong—I know better. I know the wisdom about “breaking things down,” about taking the first step, about Ben Franklin’s truth that “little strokes fell great oaks.” But when I’m staring at the big picture, the demon of procrastination is quick to pounce.

It starts yammering:

“It’s too much. You don’t even know where to start. Better put it off until tomorrow. You’ll see it clearer then, rested and fresh.”

And the sly part is—it sounds almost reasonable. That’s how this demon works. It pretends it’s looking out for me. But I know the truth: once I give in, tomorrow becomes the next day, and the next day, and soon the oak is still standing, unscarred.

So I fight. I start small. One tap of the keys, one page, one email sent. A single stroke against the oak.

Fiercely determined. Fiercely persistent. Fiercely anchored. That’s how I win the procrastination battle. Usually.

I have other demons, of course. But they’re far too personal to divulge for all the world to know. I’m not about to share them.

Like the demon that tells me that my writing will never be good enough to be discovered by a magazine or a newspaper syndicate.

Or the demon that mocks long-range planning at my age, reminding me that there’s far more behind me than there will ever be ahead.

And I’m certainly not going to tell you about the demon that wonders what waits on the other side of the great divide—the same divide every one of us will cross, where all have gone before to face the mysteries of beyond forever.

Like I said, they’re way too personal. So I’ll keep them to myself.

But I’ve gotten to the point in my life that my demons don’t embarrass me anymore because I know that to be human is to battle the demons that strive to undo us.

And besides, we all have our demons. You do, too. Some of them may be the same as mine.

Or maybe you have the demon of worry, who shows up right on schedule, carrying a suitcase that never unpacks. The demon of regret, who loves to remind us of choices we can’t un-choose, words we can’t un-say. The demon of loneliness, who doesn’t bother knocking—just slips in and makes himself at home.

Or the demon of disappointment who lingers when the prize you’ve chased turns out to be a shadow.

Or what about weariness, when the weight of the day presses like red Virginia clay, and every step feels heavier than the last.

And then there’s doubt—the slyest demon of them all—always ready with the same question:

“Are you sure you’re enough?”

These aren’t strangers to you or to me or to any of us. They’re regulars. They know the way in. They don’t need an invitation.

I’m fairly certain that I heard someone somewhere right now screaming in disbelief:

“Get real. Those don’t count as demons at all compared to the ones that I’m battling.”

I hear you. I understand. I’ve been blessed because I’ve never had to deal with the demons of addiction—alcohol, drugs, gambling. Or the demons of abuse—physical, emotional, sexual—the kind that scar the body and the soul.

I’ve never faced the demon of homelessness, not knowing where I’d sleep. Or the demon of hunger, not knowing where my next meal would come from.

I’ve been spared the demon of crushing poverty, the one that never lets you breathe free. And I’ve never lived under the demon of war, with its bombs and sirens and losses that can’t be counted.

But it seems to me—and yes, I know my limited experience might make this sound overly simplistic—whatever demon we face, we have to be fiercely determined. We have to be fiercely persistent. We have to be fiercely anchored. That’s how we win our daily battles with whatever demons come after us.

But let me emphasize here one key word that I emphasized earlier. Usually.

Being fiercely determined, being fiercely persistent, and being fiercely anchored enables us to win our battles daily. Usually.

But as we all know, some days we lose the battle. We all do. And when we lose, it stings. The demons strut, they jeer, they claim the day as theirs. They would have us believe that losing once means losing for good.

But they’re wrong.

Because a lost battle is not a lost war. It’s a stumble, not a surrender. And tomorrow—always tomorrow—the fight begins again.

The demons will be there, lined up and waiting, whispering their same old lies. And we’ll be there, too. Fiercely determined. Fiercely persistent. Fiercely anchored. Ready to face them.

We may not win every day. Sometimes, we do. Sometimes, we don’t. But we show up anyway. Because being human has never been about living without demons. It’s about never letting them have the last word.

And in case you’re wondering, let me assure you. They’ll be back. But guess what? We’ll be back—bruised, stubborn, laughing, and still ready to wrestle.

Page 415 of 415: The Power of Showing Up (Even in Bed)

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“Dripping water hollows out stone, not through force but through persistence.”

—Ovid (43 BCE – 17/18 CE; Roman poet best known for his works Metamorphoses and The Art of Love. his works shaped Western literature and narratives of perseverance.)

Voila! As I finished uploading the last essay into my MS Word document, I glanced at the upper-right corner and smiled:

● Page 415 of 415

Wow! That’s a lot of pages.

And when I looked down at the lower-left corner, my smile stretched from ear to ear:

● 100,740 words

Wow! That’s a lot of words.

Yet, the more that I thought about it, the more I realized that it’s really not a big deal.

Here’s why. I write in bed every night. Every single night. Got it? It has nothing to do with being in the mood. Nothing to do with being inspired. It has everything to do with showing up. Everything to do with showing up as a “writer in bed,” 365 nights a year. From that perspective, if I look at the total word count, I’m writing around 276 words a night. That’s not a lot.

But here’s the thing—once I set the goal, I follow through. Same time. Same place. Night after night. A fierce determination to write until I’m sleepy.

The payoff? Immense.

● A blog post, every week.

● A 415-page manuscript, totaling 100,740 words.

It gets better. As a result of showing up–as a result of follow-through–those words and those pages are now in the hands of my publisher, and my third collection of essays will be out this spring. The Third Time’s the Charm: Still Foolin’ Around in Bed.

Now you know. My writing secret is out.

I show up. I’m present. I write.

Then I follow through. I carry my writing intent forward, determined to have a blog post ready every Monday morning. Determined to have a collection of 52 or so creative nonfiction essays ready at the end of the year.

There’s a beautiful simplicity in what I’m doing that points to something true. Much of success, growth, and connection in life happens because we keep showing up and following through. Even if we’re not perfect, that steady presence builds momentum.

As we enter the first full week of 2025, we can all benefit from that truth especially as we tackle our New Year’s resolutions, even if we made just one.

One resolution is the lump sum of how many I made! It has nothing to do with my nighttime writing. Instead, it has to do with my morning biking routine, something I’ve done indoors for decades. Every day, without fail, I mount my faithful Schwinn and aim to hit at least 15 miles daily, most days 20. I’m attentive. I pedal 20-23 miles per hour, always exceeding Fitbit’s Zone minutes, customized just for me.

Several weeks ago, however, Fitbit launched a Cardio Load feature that intrigued me. It’s similar to Training Load metrics seen in high-end fitness watches (like Garmin or Polar), but Fitbit simplifies it for everyday users like me to easily track and interpret their progress. It measures the strain that my cardiovascular system experiences during physical activity. It reflects the cumulative impact of my workouts over time, helping me understand how hard my heart is working and whether I’m training too much, too little, or just right.

As might be expected, my biking routine had pedaled me perfectly into the cardiovascular sweet spot of excellence. But guess what? When it comes to Cardio Load, it’s not sweet at all. The first day that I tried it–biking the same way I’ve biked forever and a day–I discovered that I didn’t hit my recommended Cardio Load at all. Damn!

I knew at once what my resolution would be. Keep on biking with a goal of hitting my daily Cardio Load recommendations. It’s not easy. I have to pedal at least 23-24 miles per hour, plus I have to bike in longer stints to achieve intensity. I can tell when I get into my zone: it’s like crossing into fire—my legs pumping molten steel and my lungs drinking in the heat. My skin hums, sweat rolls in rivulets, but beneath it all, I feel power—sharp and alive, burning just right.

Easy? Hell no. But I am resolved to show up every day and follow through with the Cardio Load that Fitbit recommends for me. I know fully well that my body will face a learning curve, but I’m committed to biking my way to improved endurance and fitness. Every day, I’ll be hopping on my Schwinn, fiercely determined to chase down my Cardio Load and crush it!

Fitness and health resolutions are probably at the top of your list, too—exercising more, losing weight, meditating, or maybe just getting better sleep. Whatever your goal, it’s not about overhauling your life overnight. It’s about showing up—one walk, one salad, one deep breath at a time. Small shifts add up, and before you know it, you’ve walked hundreds of miles or made it through January without stress-eating half your pantry.

Or maybe you’ve decided to focus on personal growth and education. Maybe you resolved to read more books, to learn a new skill or hobby, to take a class, to continue your formal education, or to journal regularly. Whatever your goal, it’s not about mastering everything at once. It’s about showing up—one chapter, one class, one messy journal entry at a time. Growth isn’t loud and immediate; it’s quiet and steady, and those small steps lead to bigger shifts before you even realize it.

Chances are good that many of you made resolutions aimed at strengthening your relationships and social life. Maybe you resolved to communicate more effectively, spend more quality time with family and friends, meet new people and expand your social circles, or strengthen your romantic relationships. Whatever your goal, it’s not about grand gestures. It’s about showing up—one call, one coffee date, one honest conversation at a time. Relationships grow in the quiet spaces we choose to fill with presence and care.

Even if you didn’t make it a formal resolution—though I’m betting you did—we can all work on improving our mindset and perspective. Maybe this year you want to let go of grudges, worry less, stop sweating the small stuff, or practice gratitude. Perhaps you just want to be more present in the moment. Whatever your goal, it’s not about perfecting your outlook overnight. It’s about showing up—one deep breath, one pause, one small shift in focus at a time. The mind, like anything else, grows stronger with steady attention and care.

And what about your determination this year to give back and engage more with your community? Maybe you want to volunteer regularly, take part in local initiatives, or donate to causes close to your heart. Whatever your goal, it’s not about making startling, sweeping changes. It’s about showing up—one hour, one act of kindness, one moment of service at a time. The smallest efforts ripple outward, and before you know it, you’re part of something larger than yourself.

Maybe at the top of your list are spiritual and inner growth resolutions. Perhaps you’re looking to deepen your practice through meditation, prayer, or daily reflection. Maybe you want to live with more intention—focusing on mindfulness and being present. Or you might feel drawn to reconnect with nature, simplifying life by clearing distractions and grounding yourself in what truly matters. Maybe, just maybe, you’re leaning in—trusting the process of living, embracing faith, patience, and the unknown.

Whatever your goal, it’s not about achieving enlightenment overnight. It’s about showing up—one quiet moment, one breath, one step toward stillness at a time. The soul, like anything else, finds its way forward through presence and gentle persistence.

Of course, plenty of other resolutions might top your list this year—ones I won’t dive into but are just as worthy of your focus. Maybe you’re aiming to advance your career, start a new project, or finally wrangle your calendar into submission. Perhaps finances are front and center—saving more, paying down debt, or planning for the future. Or maybe this is the year you let loose, travel more, dive into creative passions, and rediscover what brings you joy.

Whatever your goal, the same truth applies. It’s not about conquering everything in one fell swoop. It’s about showing up—one task, one small win, one brushstroke at a time. Progress happens quietly, and before long, those little moments stack up into something bigger than you imagined.

Here we are—the first full week of the New Year—riding high on resolutions we’ve made but probably won’t keep. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Life isn’t about whims or midnight promises made in a champagne haze. Real change doesn’t happen because the clock strikes twelve. It happens when we show up the next morning—and the one after that—and follow through.

The stroke of midnight might spark the idea, but it’s the steady steps after that turn resolutions into something real. That’s how I ended up with 415 pages, 100,740 words, and another book in the works—one sleepy night at a time.

Gr!t ’R Done!

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“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.”

Confucius, The Analects

Needless to say, I need not even ask what I am about to ask. But I will ask it anyway.

Do you ever feel overwhelmed?

“Who? Me?” I just heard someone ask.

Yes. You. Maybe. But let’s edge our way in to this just a little more before you decide, lest you decide too hastily.

I’m not talking about the way you feel when that last straw is headed right toward you, and you know fully well that it’s the one that will break your proverbial camel’s back.

If that’s the mell of a hess you’re grappling with, I’m really sorry for your streak of bad luck.

The overwhelmed that I have in mind is when you have a mountain smackdab in front of you. It’s ginormous. And you have to move it, and you have no idea how you will ever get it done.

Maybe, in reality, it’s nothing more than a mole hill. But perceptions are perceptions. If that mole hill is a mountain to you, then it is indeed your mountain.

Aren’t we masterful at turning our mole hills into mountains?

I am. You are. We all are.

And, at the same time, let’s acknowledge that all of us face real life mountains, too, that we have to move.

It’s when we’re facing our mountains–the real ones and the mole hills that we have turned into mountains–that we feel overwhelmed. That’s when we sigh or cry or moan or groan because at that moment we just don’t see how we will ever move that mole hill. We just don’t see how we will ever move that mountain. We just don’t see how we will ever get it done.

To feel overwhelmed before the mountains of life–real or overblown–is to be human.

This week, I’m feeling superhuman. Overwhelmed is on my mind a lot: it’s the next to the last week before my summer classes end. Also, overwhelmed is on my students’ minds a lot this week: they have reading assignments and a final discussion board forum this week and a final reflection essay next week.

(A word to educators who would be wise: abandon those ridiculous final exams. Replace them with meaningful final reflection essays. Reach out to me using Contact, and I will share proven strategies that have worked for me during the last four years.)

My apologies for that digressory jab at defunct final exam practices that continue to plague the hallowed ivory halls of learning. I couldn’t help myself.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. My students are feeling overwhelmed by end-of-semester assignments and by final reflection essays.

Guess what?

I am, too. It’s a mountain of work right in front of me, so close that I can smell the virtual submissions, so close that I can hardly breathe. And I have to get it done.

Let me define the preceding “it.” I have to grade all of that student work that’s closing in on me and smothering me, because I have to submit final grades two days after those final reflection essays are submitted. My mountain seems even larger.

Oh. Yes. I understand how it feels to feel overwhelmed.

I know, too, that my students always feel overwhelmed at the beginning of the semester. They have so much to do before the end.

I do, too. I’m their learning coach. I’m their learning cheerleader. I’m there to help them move those mole hills. I’m there to help them move those mountains. I’m there to help them get it done.

I always suggest some strategies that they can use to see themselves through to the successful conclusion that they hope to enjoy and that they can enjoy if they work at it.

Ironically, the strategies are always the same whether it’s the beginning, or, as it is now, the end.

Ironically, the same strategies work for me, at my beginnings and my endings.

Ironically, the strategies will work for you, at your beginnings and your endings.

Following these strategies can help all of us–me, my students, and you–feel less overwhelmed as we tackle our mole hills and our mountains.

A good place to start is by realistically measuring our grit. Please tell me that you know about grit. You do, right? Sometimes I have to explain it to my students, so let me explain it here for everyone’s benefit.

And yes: after the explanation, you will have a quiz! Don’t worry. (1) It’s optional. (2) Anyone who takes the quiz will pass.

Grit has nothing to do with IQ. It has nothing to do with talent. It has nothing to do with luck. It has everything to do with your willingness to roll up your sleeves and do the hard work always required to achieve any goal, usually a long-term goal, but it applies as well to short term goals. Grit is all about perseverance and passion.

I have always known about grit, but Angela Duckworth is the one who turned me on to the power and awesomeness of grit. She has turned lots of folks on to it, too, and when you get turned on to grit, get ready to get it done, whatever you need to get done.

I start my semesters by having my students take Duckworth’s 10-question Grit Quiz. Why don’t you take it, right now? Hot Tip: Be honest. No need to fool yourself! Not now. Not ever.

After my students find out how gritty they are, I invite them to share their grit score with the class if they wish. I am always amazed by the fruitful and honest conversations that follow. I just heard someone whisper, “What’s your grit score?” Thank you, but no need to whisper. I’m proud of it. I scored a 5. Did you hear me? Let me shout it again. I’m a 5. I’m as gritty as they grit. My grit is awesome. When I start it–whatever the “it” is–I’m going to stick with it until I get it done. Count on it.

After our class discussion of grittiness goes wherever it goes–and wherever it goes is always exactly where it ought to go: learning is always spontaneous, and spontaneity is always all right with me–I get my students hooked on Duckworth’s TED Talk: “Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance.” It’s powerful. It’s motivational. It makes you want to get down and get gritty. Go ahead. Watch it. It’s had 26,997,225 views. With any luck, this post might take it up to 27 million views! So come on! Let’s gr!t ‘r done.

As my students and I get deeper and deeper into the semester, I am always mindful that the journey that I am trying to make a fun and fulfilling one for them might start looking more and more like a mountain. Then I love to share with them little proverbs as little reminders that a little strength applied consistently and for a sustained period of time can bring staggering results. Maybe it’s as simple as “The man who would move mountains must begin by carrying away small stones” (Confucius, The Analects). Or maybe “Little Strokes Fell Great Oaks” (Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard’s Almanac).

Then as research papers start to loom on the horizon, I up the ante still more and share with my classes the backstory for Anne Lamott’s classic book on writing and living, Bird by Bird. In the introduction to her book, she tells the story of her brother who had waited until the last minute to write his paper that was due the next day. Interestingly enough, the paper was about birds. Lamott’s father told him to write the paper bird by bird. Looking at the component parts and completing one part of the paper at a time made the whole project seem less intimidating and less overwhelming.

What Lamott and Franklin and Confucius and a gazillion others are offering up as a pearl of wisdom is a lesson in incrementalism: progress comes gradually, in small steps.

It works for my students. It works for me. It will work for you.

As the semester progresses and end-of-semester fatigue raises its nasty and unnerving head, I can see in my students’ faces the reflection of their mountains right in front of them. Then I know that I have to up the ante once again. I play for the class one of my favorite poems by Rita Dove–“Maple Valley Branch Library, 1967. It’s an incredible tribute to learning and to libraries and to librarians and to getting it done. It has an even more special meaning for me because Rita Dove read that poem at the White House on May 11, 2011. Former President Obama–who believes that poetry and the arts matter (and they do)–provides a masterful introduction to the power of poetry, with wry, charming humor as only he can do. Afterwards the poet reads her poem. Both the former president and the former United States Poet Laureate are genuine charmers. I’ll provide the link in just a second. Watch the video, please. (But not until you finish my post, or, if you insist on watching the video before finishing my post, go ahead. Just come back. I’ll be lost without you.) Rita Dove: 2011 White House Poetry Evening — introduction by Barack Obama.

Without exception, my students always love watching this video. Sometimes they even applaud. Sometimes they even applaud without mention of extra credit. The video inspires. It motivates. It makes them know that they can get it done.

Here’s how Dove empowers my students–and all of us– to come to that understanding. The stanzas that follow are directly from her poem. They recount the poet’s journey home, as a 15-year-old, carrying six volumes of knowledge–six books that she selected on her learning journey:

“I carried [the books] home, past five blocks of aluminum siding
and the old garage where, on its boarded-up doors,
someone had scrawled:

“I can eat an elephant
if I take small bites.

“Yes, I said, to no one in particular: That’s
what I’m gonna do!”

Overwhelmed? My students? Me? You? All of us?

Of course, we are. To be overwhelmed is to be human.

Thankfully, we’re not overwhelmed all of the time. But when we are, isn’t it great to know that we have wisdom as our ally–all the way from Confucius to Franklin to Lamott to Dove? Isn’t it great to know that we have wisdom cheering us every step of the way? As we carry away our stones. As we fell our oaks. As we write our birds. As we eat our elephants. As we get it done.

Isn’t it great knowing that a little gr!t will gr!t ‘r done?

It certainly calms me. And just as soon as I finish grading end-of-semester assignments and final reflection essays, I’m going to polish that nugget of truth as I face my next mountain: gardens (right here on my mountain) overtaken by a gazillion weeds, all reaching for the stars.

And guess what else? I will pump myself up just as I try to pump up my students–just as I have tried to pump you up here, so that you can face your own mountains, whatever they might be–and believe you me: I will tackle my mountain, and I will gr!t ‘r done.