Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance

The way we do things around here and
why
eventually becomes 
The way I do things and why
.
Identity influences every aspect of our character, but it has special relevance to grit. Often, the
critical gritty-or-not decisions we make—to get up one more time; to stick it out through this
miserable, exhausting summer; to run five miles with our teammates when on our own we might only
run three—are a matter of identity more than anything else. Often, our passion and perseverance do
not spring from a cold, calculating analysis of the costs and benefits of alternatives. Rather, the source
of our strength is the person we know ourselves to be.
James March, an expert on decision making at Stanford University, explains the difference this
way: Sometimes, we revert to cost-benefit analyses to make choices. Of course, March doesn’t mean
that, in deciding what to order for lunch or when to go to bed, we take out a pad of paper and a
calculator. What he means is that, sometimes when making choices, we take into consideration how
we might benefit, and what we’ll have to pay, and how likely it is that these benefits and costs will be
what we think they’ll be. We can do all of this in our heads, and indeed, when I’m deciding what to
order for lunch or when to go to bed, I often think through the pros and the cons before making a
decision. It’s very logical.

---

But other times, March says, we don’t think through the consequences of our actions at all. We
don’t ask ourselves: 
What are the benefits? What are the costs? What are the risks?
Instead, we ask
ourselves: 
Who am I? What is this situation? What does someone like me do in a situation like
this?
Here’s an example:
Tom Deierlein introduced himself to me this way: “I am a West Pointer, Airborne Ranger, and two-
time CEO. I founded and run a nonprofit. I am not special or extraordinary in any way. Except one:
grit.”
On active duty in Baghdad during the summer of 2006, Tom was shot by a sniper. The bullet
shattered his pelvis and sacrum. There was no way to know how the bones would knit back together
and what sort of functionality Tom might have when they did. Doctors told him he might never walk
again.
“You don’t know me,” Tom replied simply. And then, to himself, he made a promise to run the
Army Ten-Miler, a race he’d been training to run before he was shot.
When, seven months later, he was finally well enough to get out of bed and begin physical therapy,
Tom worked fiercely, unrelentingly, doing all the assigned exercises and then more. Sometimes, he’d
grunt in pain or shout out encouragements to himself. “The other patients were a little startled at first,”
Tom says, “but they got used to it, and then—all in good fun—they’d mock me with fake grunts of
their own.”
After a particularly tough workout, Tom got “zingers,” sharp bolts of pain that shot down his legs.
“They’d only last a second or two,” Tom says, “but they’d come back at random times throughout the
day, literally making me jump from the shock.” Without fail, each day, Tom set a goal, and for a few
months, the pain and perspiration were paying off. Finally, he could just barely walk with a walker,
then with just a cane, then on his own. He walked faster and farther, then was able to run on the
treadmill for a few seconds while holding onto the railings, and then for a full minute, and on and on
until, after four months of improving, he hit a plateau.
“My physical therapist said, ‘You’re done. Good job.’ And I said, ‘I’m still coming.’ And she said,
‘You did what you needed to do. You’re good.’ And I said, ‘No, no, I’m still coming.’ ”
And then Tom kept going for a full eight months beyond the point where there were any noticeable
improvements. Technically, his physical therapist wasn’t allowed to treat him anymore, but Tom came
back on his own to use the equipment anyway.
Was there any benefit to those extra months? Maybe. Maybe not. Tom can’t say for sure that the
extra exercises did any good. He 
does
know that he was able to start training for the Army Ten-Miler
the next summer. Before getting shot, he’d aimed to run seven-minute miles, completing the race in
seventy minutes or less. After getting shot, he revised his goal: he hoped to run twelve-minute miles
and to finish in two hours. His finish time? One hour and fifty-six minutes.
Tom can’t say that running the Army Ten-Miler—and, after that, two triathlons—were decisions
rooted in costs and benefits, either. “I simply wasn’t going to fail because I didn’t care or didn’t try.
That’s not who I am.”
Indeed, the calculated costs and benefits of passion and perseverance don’t always add up, at least
in the short run. It’s often more “sensible” to give up and move on. It can be years or more before
grit’s dividends pay off.
And that’s exactly why culture and identity are so critical to understanding how gritty people live
their lives. The logic of anticipated costs and benefits doesn’t explain their choices very well. The
logic of identity does.

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The population of Finland is just over five million. There are fewer Finns in the world than New
Yorkers. This tiny, cold Nordic country—so far north that, in the depth of winter, they get barely six
hours of daylight—has been invaded numerous times by larger, more powerful neighbors. Whether
those meteorological and historical challenges contribute to how Finns see themselves is a good
question. Regardless, it is undeniable that the Finns see themselves as among the world’s grittiest
people.
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