I believe persistence is a gift.
It’s a talent. And I know that I have it.
Sometimes, I think it’s just the caffeine. But with how many people in this world drink coffee, and how few end up being like me, I doubt it. I know I have an uncanny ability to pick myself up and re-orient to the goal, and try again. And try again. And try again. And eventually win. Sometimes I feel like it’s a strange trait. Like other people wonder how I keep going and so do I. But I rely on it, to win. I can outlast anyone. I can re-create myself and re-appear, and eventually you’ll give up or quit, but I won’t.
Years ago, I found a purpose. I had taken on a new job, and I was challenged to do something that seemed very unnatural to me—talk to people I didn’t know. I had to come face to face with my own fear, and drag it, kicking and screaming, to the ground, or I would be faced with failure. In that first trembling attempt, and second, and third, I needed something to grab onto. So I dug deep, and I finally found this rock, like the core of the Earth. It was unyielding. When you push against it, it just pushes back. It won’t ever break. That purpose, when I’m backed against a wall, is what I lean against.
My teachers and other kids used to tell me I was sensitive. It’s true. I’m an artist, and artists can sense many things. But I think sometimes, sensitivity is confused with weakness. Wearing your heart on your sleeve, is not seen as a trait of a fighter or a winner. But I’m both. I can get disappointed, or my pride can be hurt, and you CAN hurt my feelings. But– I keep showing up. I fight back and I make it my life’s mission to beat the crap out of whatever adversity has presented itself.
I was talking to my husband about it today and I was describing it. I called it “the little fighter.” He said, you know, that little fighter has another name.
“What?” I asked. He said, “Lane.”