Have you ever asked yourself that? Have you truly wondered what could be possible if you stopped saying that you’re not enough? I have a friend, he’s a veteran and a fair bit older than I am. But for as long as I can remember, he’s been a friend and a solid mentor through most of my life. As I grew older though, the lessons he taught became fewer and fewer.
He has a happy life from what I can tell, a wife, two kids and some dogs that absolutely live like kings. Nothing to knock or begrudge. But I wonder often if that is enough for him or if he’s capable of more. Not to say his current situation is bad, but rather I can tell to some degree he is comfortable. Comfortability isn’t bad in and of itself, but rather it breeds complacency. When you’re comfortable you don’t have to be alert or aware and through the seasons of our lives We all need a time when we are less high strung than normal, or for lack of a better term..comfortable. But I wonder if I were to light a fire somehow and get him hooked on the idea to row an ocean like I did...how well would he do?
I think he’d do phenomenal. More impressive than he truly realizes.
To a point I believe that we consistently sell ourselves short in terms of what we think we are capable of. I don’t think most people do it on purpose, it’s just that the human body and mind is capable of so much, but we’ve limited ourselves to thinking that a mid-level managerial job and paying off our debt so we can retire is a goal worth aspiring to. And there is nothing wrong with that. It’s an honorable, realistic goal. I don’t begrudge the people who look me in the eye and say “Yeah John, that’s enough.” Ok, very well. I understand we all have our limits. Either due to genetics or mindset, some people have decided that a certain environment is enough for them, and I totally get that.
These limits we set for ourselves and sometimes the limits placed on us by others...we can choose to struggle against both of those. The limits placed on us by others often pose more of a struggle, you can change people’s minds about what you’re capable of but in the end it is their decision. When it comes to us though, friend, that's entirely an individual effort.
“I know I could do that if I tried, but there is a small risk of failure, so because I’m so confident that I could do it if I applied myself, it’s basically like I did, so I don’t need to do it to risk failure and looking dumb.”
What an attitude, eh? The arrogance just drips from this like honey out of a bear’s mouth. It sure is sweet, until that bear clamps his mouth shut. You don’t know the fire you're playing with.
Why don’t we challenge ourselves?
“Because I might fail at something that is so simple, I’ll look foolish forever.”
Well we look like cowards now. But not an obscene coward, not like Upham in Saving Private Ryan...rather this cowardice eats at you slowly. It’s not a cowardice loathed like Upham either. Nor is it outwardly expressed, lest an ambien and alcohol infused rant on social media expose it.
Rather it's a secret. It’s shameful.
There is a bit of a coward in all of us I’d venture to say. When that coward comes out is a different story. For some it’s with a bully at school and with others it’s standing outside the doorway in Iraq. Comedian John Mulanely points out a fact, in that it is always easier not to do “the thing” than it is to do “the thing” and boy does our internal coward make that the primary argument.
“You’ve worked hard, part of a healthy life balance is rest and recovery. You don’t want to be too tired right? Let’s not do the thing, let’s rest, like we deserve.”
And because we love ourselves, we really do. We end up not doing “the thing”. Which then will saddle us with regret and false bravado.
“Well if I’d done it, I’d have done it this way because I’m so smart and talented and blah blah blah.”
And we all sit back knowing what an incompetent and moronic statement that is. Yet, we’ve all said it before, most everyone’s hindsight is 20/20 and it’s easy for the coward to say;
“I would have done it differently...if I’d done it.”
But that’s the thing. The coward didn’t do it. Not because they are a bad person or unlike any of us. Rather we made a choice that doing nothing was easier and more likely a successful endeavor than doing “the thing”. Despite how poor that thought process is, it happens every single day. Even if the chance of success was high, the chance of failure also loomed closely. And failure is more miserable than success is enjoyable...for some.
What does that then say about us? Those who avoid the challenge and the potential failure. I’d say we are afraid of knowledge. We are afraid of the increased responsibility we may have, thinking “it’s already hectic where I’m at, how could I do more?” We can grow. To those that say “What if I fail?” Then you’ll be in good company and you’ll have an abundance of wisdom from lessons learned. To those who say “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” Tomorrow always remains tomorrow and never becomes today.
About the Creator
John Fannin
United States Marine Corps Veteran
College athlete
B.S. Kinesiology
Rowed across the Atlantic Ocean as part of team Fight Oar Die in the 2019 Talisker Whisky Atlantic Challenge.
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More stories from John Fannin and writers in Motivation and other communities.
Chasing Greatness
I've always wanted to be great. For some reason, I've always thought I would be. For quite silly farcical reasons albeit. All of my immediate family members were born in a year that is a multiple of five, save me. Both of my siblings married someone whose name starts with the letter A, and when I take my vows in less than 2 weeks time, it will be to a wonderful young woman named Sarah. It is all a bit silly, isn't it? To look upon these mild and unrelated differences as if they mean something? To forge out of them some sort of significant meaning of life, the universe and destiny? And it is. It is quite silly. It is a ridiculous notion that any one of these could be the reason why I've felt the way I did.
By John Fannin4 years ago in Motivation
“The Man Who Never Missed a Day”
When I was 17, I met a man who delivered newspapers in the rain. Not in a casual, half-hearted way—but fully committed, every single morning. He would leave his house before sunrise, his coat soaked, shoes falling apart, and the wind cutting through him like a knife. Yet, despite the cold and wet, he smiled at everyone on his route. To a teenager like me, it was both confusing and inspiring. I remember the first time I saw him struggle with a bundle of papers that seemed almost too heavy for him. He slipped on the wet pavement, muttered something under his breath, and kept walking. When he reached the next house, he knocked on the door, handed over the paper, and smiled as the door closed. That smile was strange to me—it wasn’t pride or satisfaction, it was… calm. Almost peaceful. Curious, I approached him one morning. “Why don’t you take a day off when it’s so hard?” I asked, shivering in my hoodie as the rain soaked me through. He laughed, a deep, gravelly sound that didn’t sound annoyed, only knowing. “Son, nobody cares about today,” he said, shaking his head. “What matters is tomorrow. You build your life the same way: one small effort, every day, even when nobody notices.” At the time, I didn’t understand. My life felt urgent, like it had to explode with success immediately. I was chasing big ideas, jumping from project to project, leaving most half-finished. I thought motivation was everything—without the spark of inspiration, nothing mattered. The idea of showing up every single day, even when tired, even when bored, even when invisible, felt almost insane. I watched him for weeks. Rain or shine, he was there. I started noticing small details I hadn’t seen before—the careful folding of the papers, the way he adjusted his wet coat to protect the bundle, the extra minute he took to smile at a child running out to grab the paper. Every morning, the same ritual. Every morning, the same effort. And yet, nobody cheered. Nobody noticed. Years passed. I went to college, chasing my own “big dreams,” my own versions of instant success. I started businesses, abandoned them; learned new skills, stopped halfway; made promises to myself I couldn’t keep. I told myself I was working toward greatness, but mostly, I was chasing the idea of success, not the work itself. Motivation was my fuel, and when it ran out, I stopped moving. Meanwhile, the memory of that man stayed with me. The quiet diligence, the smile in the pouring rain. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he had already taught me the most important lesson: consistency matters more than talent, and persistence matters more than inspiration. Years later, I found myself struggling. A career path crumbled beneath me, a relationship ended badly, and my confidence had hit rock bottom. I remembered the man with the newspapers. I thought about how small, invisible efforts can be the hardest to trust—because results are not immediate, and recognition is not guaranteed. Yet, he had shown me that those small efforts accumulate, slowly but inevitably, into a life that cannot be ignored. I started experimenting with this principle myself. Every morning, I wrote 500 words for my stories—even when tired, even when uninspired. I practiced my skills quietly, without posting or sharing. I did the work not for applause, but because it mattered to the person I wanted to become. Some days, it felt like nothing was happening. Some days, I wanted to give up. But then I remembered the man with the newspapers, and I kept showing up. It didn’t take long before I started noticing changes. The words I wrote flowed better, ideas connected in ways they never had before. People began noticing my work. Small victories became more frequent, and my confidence started to rebuild. What had seemed like meaningless, invisible effort had quietly transformed my life. That man never became famous. He never went viral. He had no thousands of followers, no awards, no recognition. But every paper he delivered, every smile he shared, every step he took in the rain—it all mattered. Each day of consistent effort built a life he owned completely, a life he could be proud of. I realized then that success is not a moment. It is not a sudden flash of recognition or a single lucky opportunity. Success is the sum of the quiet, consistent decisions we make when no one is watching. It’s the choice to wake up when it’s easier to sleep. It’s the decision to work when it’s easier to scroll on your phone. It’s the effort we put in when the world doesn’t applaud. And the truth is simple: showing up every day is more powerful than talent, motivation, or luck. Talent fades. Motivation fluctuates. But showing up—every single day, rain or shine—creates results you cannot imagine. Just like the man in the rain, your efforts may not be recognized immediately. People may overlook them, circumstances may feel unfair, progress may seem invisible. But over time, the cumulative effect of your daily effort will speak for itself. One day, the world will notice. One day, your consistency will transform your life. So, start today. Don’t wait for motivation. Don’t wait for inspiration. Show up. Every day. One small effort. One action. One step at a time. Let your grind be louder than your excuses. Because the man who never missed a day wasn’t special. He was ordinary. But through persistence, he became unstoppable. And so can you.
By Ihtisham Ulhaqabout 17 hours ago in Motivation
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