The Art of Grit

(6 Minutes)

As one year ends and another begins, I often find myself caught in a strange mix of hope and unease. There’s the familiar tug to leave behind the weight of 2024—the mistakes, the missed opportunities, and the moments I wish I could rewrite. Yet, the uncertainty of 2025 looms large. What if it doesn’t turn out the way I hope? What if the things I’m yearning for remain just out of reach?

These questions reveal something deeper. Beneath the surface of my hopes and doubts lies vulnerability—the recognition of my limitations, my uncertainties, and my dreams that feel fragile. Vulnerability is not easy to face, especially when we want to stride confidently into a new year.

But as I’ve reflected more, I’ve come to wonder: what if vulnerability is not something to escape or avoid? What if it’s actually a bridge? A bridge that connects us—not just to others, but to the most honest parts of ourselves and the possibilities waiting on the horizon.

The Quiet Work of Vulnerability

When I think back to the moments in my life that truly mattered, I realize they weren’t shaped by perfection or certainty. Instead, they were born from vulnerability. Those moments when I let my guard down, admitted my fears, or acknowledged that I didn’t have all the answers—those were the moments where real connection happened.

It’s strange, isn’t it? We’re often taught to see vulnerability as a weakness, something to be hidden away or overcome. Yet, the times I’ve been most open and honest—when I’ve stopped trying to protect my ego—are the times I’ve felt most seen, most human.

Vulnerability also has this uncanny way of pointing out where we need to grow. It’s like a spotlight that reveals the parts of our lives we might otherwise overlook. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but maybe that discomfort is necessary. Maybe it’s the discomfort of stretching into something new, of becoming more than we were.

I often think of vulnerability as a nudge, a quiet voice saying, This is where you can grow. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t demand. But it lingers, asking us to lean into the discomfort and trust that it will lead us somewhere worthwhile.

Learning from Phil Stutz

Phil Stutz, the renowned psychiatrist and co-creator of “The Tools,” offers a fascinating perspective on vulnerability. For him, vulnerability is not a flaw to be fixed; it’s a starting point for transformation. His work begins with an acknowledgment of the raw, human fears we all carry—the fear of failure, rejection, or not being enough—and turns those fears into opportunities for action.

Stutz teaches that vulnerability is a doorway, not a dead end. By facing our insecurities and uncertainties, we create space for resilience and growth. His tools are designed to harness vulnerability, turning it into a source of strength rather than something that holds us back.

But what I find most powerful about Stutz’s story is that he didn’t arrive at these insights from a place of ease or certainty. He, too, has faced significant challenges in his life. Yet, instead of running from his vulnerability, he leaned into it. He used it as a guide to help himself and others navigate life’s complexities.

Stutz’s journey reminds me that vulnerability isn’t just a burden we carry. It’s a teacher, a compass, and a bridge. It connects us to our humanity while pointing us toward the growth we’re capable of.

Sitting with Vulnerability

As I look ahead to 2025, I realize that the unease I feel isn’t something to be fixed or dismissed. It’s part of the process. Vulnerability isn’t a problem to solve—it’s an invitation to grow.

When I think about it this way, I feel a little less overwhelmed. Instead of trying to predict how the year will unfold or worrying about whether I’ll meet my goals, I’m reminded to focus on the here and now. Vulnerability asks us to be present, to sit with the uncertainty, and to trust that it’s leading us somewhere meaningful.

What about you? As you reflect on the past year and look toward the next, how does vulnerability show up in your life? Do you see it as a weight to carry, or as a guide to follow?

For me, it’s still a journey. Some days, I want to armor up, to protect myself from the discomfort of not knowing. But on my better days, I remind myself that vulnerability is a bridge—and even if I don’t know exactly where it’s leading, I trust it’s worth crossing.

As we step into the new year, I’d love to hear your thoughts. How do you deal with vulnerability? What role does it play in your life? Feel free to share below. Together, we can explore this bridge and find our way forward.