When I was in Seattle, I often watched my niece learn how to walk. At first, her steps were awkward and unsteady. An adult was required to hold her hand; if we let go, she would almost immediately fall.

She would cry at this point, sometimes for many minutes. “I hate this,” I imagined her tears saying. “This hurts. This is humiliating. I just want to be carried around by Dad.”

Yet during her crying fits, there would always be a moment of clarity where her eyes transitioned from anguish into determination. In these moments I imagined a fierce battle inside her mind: you will walk, damn it. You will learn this, as long as it takes. And once her tears dried, she would get up, lift up her short arms for an adult to hold, then take one step in front of the other, brow frowned into focus. Yes, she would fall again. Many times. But as her neurons gradually learned the movement, she improved with each attempt.

By the time I left, two weeks later, she could walk for long stretches by herself. A few weeks later, my sister sent me a video of her walking independently outside. I nearly cried.

My favourite stories are those that contain overwhelming internal struggles. Tanaka in Haikyuu is a one I personally adore, but there are so many examples: Harry Potter, Frodo Baggins, Mulan, Katniss Everdeen. These characters all have quiet moments of internal struggle which define the rest of the story. I think one of the reasons why David Goggins is so popular is because he personifies this philosophy: finding meaning in the harsh struggle of overcoming oneself. And it is beautiful.

Emily Dickinson writes in her poem To Fight Aloud is Very Brave:

“To fight aloud is very brave,
But gallanter, I know,
Who charge within the bosom,
The cavalry of woe.”