I was out hitting the trails yesterday — the early morning Cape Town sun beating down on my back, and I was reflecting on something that’s been on my mind lately.

If you pause and look around you, you may begin to notice that (for the most part!) we live in a culture hyper-focused on what’s wrong with us — our traumas, anxieties, triggers, and perceived flaws. One minority group fighting another in what I’ve come to call the victim Olympics.

Almost everywhere we turn, we’re reminded of what offends us, what we can’t tolerate or handle or get over and not the fact that we HAVE resilience. Something we’re all born with, a survival mechanism already in our toolbox, ready for us to use it.

I’m not saying that acknowledging our struggles and healing our wounds is not important — I’d go as far as to say that it’s absolutely a crucial step, and I’ve definitely had to do my share of inner-work to become the man I am today.

But it’s in our rush to understand (and talk about!) what’s wrong, what’s missing, or what shouldn’t have happened that we tend to overlook one of the most fundamental parts of being human.

Our capacity to endure. To overcome. To rise.

Last week, we talked about the transformative power of purpose — how having something meaningful to pursue can change not just what we achieve, but who we become. And to follow on from that, I wanted to touch on something even more important.

In life, we face (typically!) two kinds of challenges — those we choose and those that choose us.

Sometimes, life throws unexpected trials our way — loss, illness, setbacks we never saw coming. Other times, we step into challenges on purpose, knowing full well that they will test us, stretch us, and reveal something about who we are.

My decision to train for UTCT100 falls into the second category. Every run, every climb, every moment my body begs to stop — it’s a choice. A deliberate decision to dig deeper, uncovering resilience I didn’t realise I already had.

And yet, as I prepare for race day, I’ve come to see that this same resilience isn’t just limited to ultra-running. It’s everywhere I look — or, more accurately, everywhere I choose to see it.

It’s the single mom who gets up every day, exhausted, but determined to provide for their children.

The business owner who reinvents their livelihood after losing everything in a market crash.

The cancer survivor who finds the strength to rebuild their life from scratch.

The caregiver who tends to a loved one battling illness while silently carrying their own struggles.

The person who faces rejection after rejection but still shows up for one more interview, one more attempt, one more try.

And the list goes on…

These aren’t stories of extraordinary people. They’re stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. They’re reminders of what lies within each of us — an innate resilience that often remains hidden until life forces us to discover it.

It’s that raw, innate capacity to face whatever life brings — not because you’re specially equipped or uniquely prepared, but because that’s what humans do. That’s what you’re capable of by design.

Think about it this way — every single one of us is descended from thousands of generations of survivors. People who faced famines, wars, plagues, and unspeakable tragedies — and yet, they continued. They adapted. They found ways to carry life forward.

That same strength runs in your veins.

Yet, nowadays, we’re taught to question this strength. To build lives designed to avoid discomfort rather than confront it. To fixate on our fears, insecurities, and wounds instead of facing them head-on. To identify with our traumas instead of our ability to transform them into clarity, wisdom and strength. To project blame instead of owning our reality.

We’ve created a culture that glorifies fragility over fortitude, victimhood over resilience, and avoidance over accountability.

The reason I’m pointing this out, is because when we buy into this victim mentality — when we convince ourselves that life should be easy, soft, fair, and predictable — we lose sight of our greatest strength.

And worse, we become fragile.

Because avoiding hardship might feel easier in the moment, but it comes at a cost. The more you avoid what’s hard, the more fragile you become. The more you retreat into your comfort zone, the less prepared you are when life inevitably forces your hand.

And when those challenges arrive — the ones you can’t escape — you’re left vulnerable, untested, unsure how to adapt, and uncertain how to thrive again.

Contrast that with the people who face what’s in front of them. The single mom, the cancer survivor, the business owner, the caregiver — they didn’t ask for the challenges life gave them. They didn’t have a choice. But in facing what was in front of them, they uncovered a strength and wisdom they never knew they had.

And while resilience often reveals itself when we have no other choice, it’s not something we have to wait for. It’s something we can strengthen by choosing challenges before they choose us.

The problem is, most of us don’t choose. We stay in the loop. The loop of avoidance. The loop of waiting until we “feel ready.” The loop of endless reflection and processing, convincing ourselves that thinking and talking about change is the same as making it.

But it’s not.

True growth doesn’t happen in theory. It happens in action. It happens when you choose the discomfort that stretches you. When you deliberately step into challenges, not to punish yourself, but to (gradually!) expose yourself to the very thing you fear or are unwilling to face.

It’s only when you put yourself in a situation that demands you to dig deep that you discover the quiet, unshakable force that drives you to take one more step, face one more day, or try one more time. It’s in those moments that you remember who you are and what you’re capable of.

That you realise that the strength, wisdom and freedom you’re looking for aren’t built in comfort.

They are revealed in adversity.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. This isn’t about never being vulnerable, or always pushing through pain, or denying yourself the space to heal. There’s profound wisdom in knowing when to rest, when to process, when to be gentle with yourself.

The key lies in understanding the difference between healing and hiding. Between processing and perpetually reliving. Between acknowledging your wounds and letting them define you.

Sometimes, the most resilient thing you can do is pause, reflect, and tend to your wounds. But there’s a crucial difference between taking time to heal and getting stuck in the story of being broken or lost. Between working through your past and using it as an excuse to avoid taking responsibility.

True resilience isn’t about being invulnerable — it’s about finding the balance. Knowing when to push and when to rest. When to step into a challenge and when to step back. When to process and when to progress.

When it comes to vulnerability, I’m very much on board with Brene Brown, who says that to be truly vulnerable is to dare greatly.

To dare greatly means showing up and being seen when you have no control over the outcome.

It means leaning into discomfort, stepping into the unknown, and risking pain and failure.

It’s pushing your limits and growing, even if it means falling short.

Those who’ve been there understand that the real risk isn’t in falling short.

It’s in avoiding discomfort, in never trying — and reaching the finish line with unfinished business.

So the question that I want to leave you with, is whether you will keep waiting for life to choose your challenges or choose them for yourself?

And more specifically, what kind of challenge are you willing to take on that will not only grow your tolerance for discomfort but also force you to dig deep and stretch the parts of yourself that feel stuck or contracted?

What would it look like to step into the fire — not to burn yourself, but to forge a stronger, wiser and more capable version of who you are?

Because in the end, the way to truly honour your resilience is to trust it — not just when you have to, but when you can.