My 16-year-old son David hobbled out the door on his way to a whitewater kayak competition. He made finals after competing in three events: downriver, slalom, and freestyle. I cheered him on from the shore back home he dragged himself off to bed shortly after dinner. But he was up and out again the next morning by 7 a.m. without complaint, even though he was limping on a sore foot that he had somehow injured on one of his runs and his hands were bandaged in an attempt to protect skin cracks that won’t heal in the constant exposure to cold river water. Bowed but unbroken. Damaged but determined. I don’t know if he’ll win today, and I don’t really care. I’m more proud of his dedication, his passion, and his dream than I am of how it all ends. And I recognize in my son a kindred spirit
We have different reasons for doing what we each do. He does what he does for fun. When I suggest more sleep, cross-training, or a better diet to help give him a more competitive edge, his 16-year old voice drops an octave and he says, “Mom, don’t make this not fun.”
I get it. I started my business with the idea that it would be fun. And it mostly was (in some twisted way), though eventually, for me, fun wasn’t enough. At some point the concepts of meaning and legacy became more important motivating ideas. That’s when I decided to convert Walker to a social enterprise, committing a third of distributed profits and a minimum of 2% of revenues to community. It was also the beginning of reSET which is a nonprofit I started at about that same time to advance the social enterprise sector. And while running a business-or two-is still often fun, it feels meaningful to have a more important goal to work toward.
The challenge of growing a business or rising up through a sport requires focus and a dogged, sometimes zombielike persistence. Teddy Roosevelt summed it up beautifully in a speech he gave 100 years ago:
“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.”
The first time I read this ode, it made me weep. We had just tasted defeat at reSET, having failed to pass our package of social enterprise legislation for the second year in a row. I felt played out. But anything worth doing is worth failing at again and again. So we picked ourselves up and started anew. And that next year, we finally got our legislation passed. I know there are other fights out there. I know it’s more likely that I’ll go down in the ring rather than retire, and when I do there will no doubt be critics ready to point out the things I could have done better. But I’m ok with that, because I’m proud to be in the game.
|more on David and freestyle whitewater kayaking|
Here’s to all the men and women in the arena!