Teddy Roosevelt’s speech from 1910 at the Sorbonne features some of the most stirring words a person can read AND live.
“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 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, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
Wow, gives me goosebumps EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Aren’t we all wired to be our own version of the man or woman in the arena? Doesn’t mean we have to do life as Russell Crowe or Daenerys Targaryen from GoT (most of us don’t have three fire-breathing dragons at our disposal). On most days for me, the choice to stay in the cheap seats and throw grenades at the risk-takers is front of mind. Or toss them up in the air to land in MY lap, with the evil little voice whispering in my ear, “You don’t have what it takes… look at all your failures… Be afraid, be VERY afraid.” Ring a bell? I do my best to trust God, that He’s working in my interest with the various chess moves of life. But dammit if the outcomes don’t make Him seem like a bully.