Midnight Musings

This monologue doesn’t attack failure. It attacks performative effort without evidence. Trying is real when attached to observable effort. Not everything can be measured numerically, but everything real leaves traces. 

There is a strange comfort in the word “trying.” It sounds noble. It sounds humble. It sounds like effort. Phrases like, “I’m trying to be better, I’m trying to communicate, I’m trying to heal, I’m trying to change, and I’m trying to show up” abound in common parlance. And oftentimes, that’s true. Sometimes a person really is in the figurative arena, hands bloodied, knees shaking, pushing against the weight of their own limits. Sometimes trying means effort honestly spent, even when the outcome doesn’t yet reflect the will behind it. Very few people can deadlift three hundred pounds on their first try. There’s no shame in saying, “I can’t do this yet.” Same with admitting, “I don’t have the capacity right now.” That’s honest. It’s cleaner than dressing incapacity as effort. The lie is not in being limited, it’s in asking others to keep paying the cost while pretending movement is happening. 

That kind of effort deserves respect… But there is another, counterfeit kind.

There is the “trying” that doesn’t act. The “trying” that doesn’t change. The “trying” that wants credit for intention while producing no evidence of discipline. The “trying” that flatters the ego by allowing a person to say, “I am the kind of person who wants growth,” without requiring them to become the kind of person who practices it. That kind of trying is not effort; it’s theatre. It’s a soft lie people tell themselves when the truth would demand movement. Because in reality, most things reveal themselves cleanly. Consider!

• You either spoke the truth, or you did not.
• You either showed up, or you did not.
• You either respected the boundary, or you did not.
• You either repaired the harm, or you did not.
• You either lifted the chair, or you left it on the floor.

There may be reasons. There may be limits. There may be fear, exhaustion, confusion, trauma, uncertainty, or honest failure. They can even be valid. But reasons are not results. A failed attempt can still be honorable. A person who reaches, strains, falls short, learns, and returns stronger is not a fraud; that’s growth. That’s discipline in progress. That’s the grind of becoming. But a person who says “I’m trying” while repeating the same patterns, dodging the same accountability, avoiding the same discomfort, and asking others to keep absorbing the consequences of their unchanged behavior isn’t trying in any meaningful sense. They’re narrating. And narration is not transformation.

This matters most in relationships, because love is where “trying” becomes most dangerous. People will say they are trying to be better partners, better friends, better communicators, better versions of themselves. But the people beside them are still absorbing the same disrespect, the same avoidance, the same emotional dumping, the same inconsistency, the same excuses. At some point, “I’m trying” stops being reassuring and becomes insulting. Because it asks the other person to judge you by your intentions while they continue suffering the consequences of your actions. That’s not love, accountability or maturity.

Accountability requires evidence. Not perfection; demonstrated effort. If you’re trying to communicate, there should be communication. If you’re trying to heal, there should be practices. If you’re trying to become disciplined, there should be structure. If you’re trying to respect someone, there should be changed conduct. If you’re trying to repair trust, there should be consistency over time. Otherwise, what exactly are you trying? Thinking, wanting, regretting, feeling guilty, explaining endlessly, suffering loudly… is not trying. Trying is action under resistance. And that’s the standard.

And yes, it’s demanding. It has to be. Because the modern world is full of people who want the identity of growth without the burden of transformation. They want the language of healing without the discipline of repair. They want the credit of effort without the evidence of movement. But the chair doesn’t care how sincerely you intended to lift it. Reality doesn’t bend for self-image. You do, or you do not. And if you fail, then fail honestly. Fail with your hands on the weight. Fail with sweat on your brow. Fail having actually entered the arena. Then learn. Adjust. Return. Try again – not as posture, but as practice. That’s the only kind of trying worth respecting.

Outcomes may not fully be under your control, but effort is. Results may take time. Movement should not. That’s the only kind of trying worth respecting. Everything else is comfort or deceit masquerading as effort. 

FIDES – HONORES – INTEGRITAS