This is the quote about the man in the arena from Theodore Roosevelt that changed Brene Browns life.
“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.”
I was the critic.
I wanted to be the perfect girl.
I wanted to achieve wild success, without anyone seeing me sweat…or being anything less than perfect.
I wanted to know the answers and have all of the answers.
But I was never brave enough to be seen “coming up short”.
I was the critic, except I didn’t criticize by calling someone out. I didn’t think anyone was an idiot, but I would lots of times compare myself to them, and sometimes my ego would jump in and tell me I was better or knew better than “the doer of deeds”.
Sometimes I felt really sorry for the man in the arena when he would “err”.
Erring in public was devastating to me and my heart would ache for them.
I would project my fears of coming up short or being less than perfect, onto the man in the arena…
I had no idea that wasn’t how he felt.
The man in the arena is being vulnerable.
He didn’t wait to be perfect before he showed up.
He’s ok with being the beginner, he’s ok with not knowing the path, he has left his ego at the door because he knows he had to start somewhere.
He isn’t expecting perfection, he is diving in and figuring it out as he goes.
He knows there will be failure, and he has vowed to learn from it.
When I began to see the man in the arena in this light, I began to see how coming up short, or erring in public wasn’t devastating at all.
It was part of the path.
It’s the part that keeps you humble and able to connect with people.
My view changed…living life on the sidelines, small and afraid of the critics who hadn’t dared greatly themselves (like me) was worse than being seen coming up short.
All of a sudden “coming up short” or “erring in public” didn’t matter to me anymore.
Showing up matters.
Being brave matters.
Daring greatly matters.
Being in the arena matters… and all of the others in the arena will applaud you because they also know that’s what matters.
The man in the arena is the one who is making difference.
That’s the (wo)man I want to be.