The Quiet Courage of Knowing What You Want

Life rarely unfolds in straight lines.

We stumble through seasons where purpose feels clear, followed by stretches where every decision seems clouded.

Yet embedded in this uncertainty is a truth we often overlook: clarity isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about naming the one thing worth fighting for—even if that “fight” looks like showing up daily for a project, a relationship, or a version of yourself that’s still taking shape.

Consider two stories that have anchored people for millennia.

In the first scenario, a young shepherd confronts a formidable giant, equipped only with a sling and the conviction that certain insults pierce deeper than personal pride.

The second is a man paralyzed for decades who hears a question that slices through his resignation—“Do you want to get well?”—and discovers that healing begins not with a miracle but with a choice.

These aren’t just ancient tales. They’re blueprints for navigating the quiet battles of modern life: the pressure to conform, the seduction of complacency, and the fear that wanting more is somehow selfish.

The Uncomfortable Gift of Frustration

Frustration serves as an underappreciated guide.

The simmering irritation you experience when a coworker takes shortcuts, when a friend dismisses an idea without consideration, or when you find yourself scrolling mindlessly instead of creating, is not random. It points toward what you’re wired to care about.

The shepherd-turned-warrior David didn’t storm onto the battlefield because he craved fame. He burned with outrage that an entire army had accepted defeat rather than defending their collective dignity. His anger wasn’t petty; it was protective. It revealed a nonnegotiable value: some lines shouldn’t be crossed.

Your frustrations work the same way.

That project at work that keeps you up at night—the one everyone says is “good enough”—might gnaw at you because “good enough” clashes with your instinct for excellence.

The friend who jokes about ethics over drinks might unsettle you not because you’re judgmental, but because integrity is core to how you move through the world. These aren’t flaws to suppress. They’re clues to the commitments worth building a life around.

The challenge? Distinguishing between knee-jerk reactions and the deeper truths they signal. Start here: Next time irritation flares, pause. Ask: Does this situation diminish something I’m called to protect? If the answer hums with a quiet “yes,” you’ve found a starting line, not just a grievance.

Asking Without Apology

Society oscillates between two extremes: glorifying relentless hustle and romanticizing passive “surrendering.”

But people who sustain impact over time master a third rhythm—asking boldly while staying anchored to something beyond personal gain.

When David volunteered to fight Goliath, he didn’t pretend selflessness. He asked plainly, “What’s in it for the man who takes down this threat?”

His reward—a royal marriage, tax exemptions—wasn’t trivial. It fueled his ability to lead later. Yet his ask wasn’t transactional. He sought resources to amplify his purpose, not replace it.

This balance is critical. Wanting a promotion isn’t greed if it stems from a desire to steward greater influence. Craving rest isn’t laziness if it’s about preserving your capacity to create. The line lies in your relationship to the goal: Does it expand your ability to contribute, or shrink your world to the size of the reward?

Try this: Write down a current desire—a career shift, a difficult conversation, a creative project. Then complete these sentences:

1. If I achieve this, it would allow me to…

2. If I never achieve this, I’d still find purpose by…

The space between those answers is where healthy ambition lives.

When Stuckness Becomes a Story

The paralyzed man in the ancient story had mastered the art of stuckness. For 38 years, he camped by a pool rumored to heal, repeating a mantra: “Others get there first.” His resignation wasn’t illogical—just incomplete. It focused on the how (needing help into the water) while ignoring the why (his passive acceptance of a half-life).

Sound familiar? We’ve all crafted narratives to explain our stagnation:

• “I’ll speak up when I have more experience.”

• “I’ll pivot careers after the next promotion.”

• “I’ll reconcile once they apologize first.”

Yet healing for the paralyzed man began not with changed circumstances, but with a jarring question: “Do you want to get well?” The answer seemed obvious. But real change required him to confront how his identity had become entwined with waiting.

To break your cycle:

1. Name the secondary gain. What does staying stuck protect you from? (E.g., Avoiding rejection? Bypassing tough conversations?)

2. Redefine “readiness.” Action often precedes confidence, not the other way around.

3. Embrace imperfect starts. Perhaps the man didn’t walk perfectly on his first try. He stood, then shuffled, and then stepped.

The Trap of the “Right” Path

Every culture has its version of the healing pool—the prescribed path to success. For some, it’s climbing the corporate ladder; for others, chasing viral fame or checking societal boxes. These paths aren’t inherently wrong, but they are dangerous when we join them with the only way to live meaningfully.

The paralyzed man learned this when Jesus bypassed the pool entirely. The lesson? Divine help often arrives through unexpected channels—a mentor who challenges your assumptions, a failure that redirects your focus, a “no” that saves you from a hollow “yes.”

To audit your assumptions:

• List three “shoulds” guiding your current choices. (E.g., “I should stay in this stable job,” “I should wait for permission.”)

• For each, ask: If this path disappeared tomorrow, what would I pursue?

• Notice the gap. The distance between your answers reveals where you’re following a script versus your core voice.

The Myth of the Lone Warrior

David is remembered for his solo heroics, but his victory hinged on unseen support: the brother who told him about Goliath, the king who (reluctantly) lent him armor, and the God who steadied his aim. Modern myths glorify solo founders and self-made icons, but sustained impact requires courage and community.

Build your support ecosystem:

1. Find your “truth-tellers.” These aren’t cheerleaders or critics, but people who ask, “Does this align with who you want to become?”

2. Seek friction, not just affirmation. Growth happens when someone says, “Your idea has potential—if you’re willing to rethink X…”

3. Offer reciprocity. The best networks thrive on mutual challenge, not one-way mentorship.

When Rewards Are Bridges, Not Destinations

Society frames rewards as endpoints: the diploma, the promotion, and the sale. But people who thrive treat them as fuel for deeper work.

After defeating Goliath, David didn’t retire. His victory unlocked resources (a royal platform, and military credibility) that he later used to unify a fractured nation. The reward wasn’t the climax—it was a plot twist.

Apply this lens to your goals:

• Financial success becomes a tool to fund meaningful projects, not just lifestyle upgrades.

• Hard-won skills transform into mentorship opportunities.

• Personal breakthroughs lay the groundwork for advocating for others.

The Daily Practice of Becoming

Clarity doesn't happen suddenly. It’s a habit. Start small:

Morning:

• Name one intention. Not a task—“Nail the presentation”—but a quality: “Speak with conviction,” “Listen past surface objections.”

Evening:

• Reflect on a friction point. Where did you hesitate today? What might that resistance teach you about an undervalued priority?

Weekly:

• Review your “treasury.” Collect quotes, observations, or moments that resonated. Over time, patterns emerge—themes you’re drawn to protect, create, or restore.

Final Thought
Wanting isn’t a weakness. It’s the raw material of purpose. The question isn’t whether you’ll want things—it’s whether you’ll let those wants direct you toward a life that’s not just productive, but alive.

The shepherd boy didn’t know he’d become a king. The paralyzed man couldn’t imagine walking. But both chose to want something beyond their current reality—and that wanting became the first note in a larger story.

Your turn.

Till next time,
blessings.

Eryeza Kalalu