Does the "underdog" narrative actually hold up in the real world?
in Hobbies & Leisure ·
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much we lean on the "nothing is impossible" trope. You see it everywhere—in movies, in sports commentary, in those motivational Instagram posts that everyone scrolls past. We love the idea of the total outsider, the person with zero resources or pedigree, suddenly stepping into the ring (metaphorically or literally) and taking down the giants. It’s a beautiful sentiment, and honestly, it’s what keeps us going on those Tuesday mornings when everything feels like an uphill battle.
But lately, I’ve been feeling a bit skeptical about whether we over-index on these moments. When we celebrate a singular, massive breakthrough, are we inadvertently making the "average" struggle feel like a personal failure? If a person works their tail off for ten years and never reaches that mountaintop, society tends to look at them with a bit of pity, or worse, implies they just didn't want it enough. We celebrate the outlier, but we don't really have a way to validate the grind of the person who stays consistent but never quite breaks through to the "world-class" tier.
I remember back in my early twenties, I decided I was going to be a professional-level musician. I practiced every single day. I lived and breathed it. I did everything "right"—the training, the networking, the discipline. And yet, I never "made it." I never became that headline-grabbing success story. For a long time, I felt like I had failed because I hadn't achieved that impossible feat. It took me years to realize that the value was in the discipline itself, not just the trophy at the end. But our culture isn't built to celebrate the discipline; it's built to celebrate the trophy.
There’s also the question of how much "destiny" or "willpower" actually matters versus the sheer, crushing weight of circumstance. We love to attribute success to a person's spirit, which is great for morale, but it can sometimes feel like we're ignoring the structural realities that make certain victories much harder than others. When a breakthrough happens, we call it "impossible made possible," which is poetic, but it can also brush over the sheer amount of luck, timing, or even systemic support that might have been behind the scenes.
I don't mean to be a cynic. I love seeing people win. There is something genuinely electric about seeing someone defy the odds, especially when they represent a community or a group that hasn't seen that kind of glory before. It provides a necessary spark of hope. But I wonder if we’re creating a standard of "success" that is fundamentally unhealthy for the majority of the population. If we define greatness only by these extreme, once-in-a-generation peaks, what does that say about the rest of us who are just trying to live meaningful, productive, and disciplined lives?
Is the "impossible" narrative a necessary myth to keep us striving, or is it a distraction from the reality that most of life is lived in the middle ground, far away from the podium? Do you think we place too much emphasis on these singular moments of triumph?
But lately, I’ve been feeling a bit skeptical about whether we over-index on these moments. When we celebrate a singular, massive breakthrough, are we inadvertently making the "average" struggle feel like a personal failure? If a person works their tail off for ten years and never reaches that mountaintop, society tends to look at them with a bit of pity, or worse, implies they just didn't want it enough. We celebrate the outlier, but we don't really have a way to validate the grind of the person who stays consistent but never quite breaks through to the "world-class" tier.
I remember back in my early twenties, I decided I was going to be a professional-level musician. I practiced every single day. I lived and breathed it. I did everything "right"—the training, the networking, the discipline. And yet, I never "made it." I never became that headline-grabbing success story. For a long time, I felt like I had failed because I hadn't achieved that impossible feat. It took me years to realize that the value was in the discipline itself, not just the trophy at the end. But our culture isn't built to celebrate the discipline; it's built to celebrate the trophy.
There’s also the question of how much "destiny" or "willpower" actually matters versus the sheer, crushing weight of circumstance. We love to attribute success to a person's spirit, which is great for morale, but it can sometimes feel like we're ignoring the structural realities that make certain victories much harder than others. When a breakthrough happens, we call it "impossible made possible," which is poetic, but it can also brush over the sheer amount of luck, timing, or even systemic support that might have been behind the scenes.
I don't mean to be a cynic. I love seeing people win. There is something genuinely electric about seeing someone defy the odds, especially when they represent a community or a group that hasn't seen that kind of glory before. It provides a necessary spark of hope. But I wonder if we’re creating a standard of "success" that is fundamentally unhealthy for the majority of the population. If we define greatness only by these extreme, once-in-a-generation peaks, what does that say about the rest of us who are just trying to live meaningful, productive, and disciplined lives?
Is the "impossible" narrative a necessary myth to keep us striving, or is it a distraction from the reality that most of life is lived in the middle ground, far away from the podium? Do you think we place too much emphasis on these singular moments of triumph?