"The harder the battle, the sweeter the victory." — Les Brown
The last five years have been some of the hardest — and best — of my life.
I spent years pouring my soul into a book proposal that received crickets from publishers. I had to say goodbye to my cat, Fishstick, my constant companion across continents and 17 different homes (I counted). I lost a friend I thought I’d grow old with. There was a health scare. A divorce.
And yet, amidst the struggles, there was so much good. I rediscovered my love for writing. I welcomed Rio, a new kitten bursting with energy, into my life. I met people who reignited my belief in the power of passion. I became a jiu-jitsu world champion as a blue belt, finally living my dream of being a professional athlete, despite the sacrifices it required, and received my purple belt after two and a half years of hard work. I started writing a new book, one I’m infinitely more excited about than the first. I read a lot of great books. I started On Fire. I fell in love.
What makes these past five years so different is simple: I stopped holding back. I realized I didn’t want to live cautiously anymore. I gave everything I had — to my creative work, my relationships, and my dreams. For the first time, I wasn’t living safely. I was living passionately. And I’ve never felt so alive.
But this way of living comes at a cost. I’ve written about this before, reflecting on my pursuit to become a jiu-jitsu world champion. To live passionately is to embrace uncertainty. It means putting your heart on the line, knowing full well it could break, and trading the comfort of security for the chance to feel truly alive. It’s a roller coaster way of living — opening yourself to the highest highs and the lowest lows, because the two are inseparable.
To better understand these extremes, I recently spoke with sports psychologist Mark Aoyagi, who works with athletes and other high performers — people who routinely put their hearts on the line in pursuit of their dreams. Aoyagi explained how by not playing it safe, we inevitably open ourselves up to this rollercoaster.
“The absolute best performance and the absolute worst performance are actually a lot more similar than your run of the mill, mediocre performance,” he says. “Because the thing that’s in common with the absolute best and the absolute worst performance is that the person is going for it. They’re fully invested. They’re vulnerable. They’re taking risks. Whereas, if we play it small, we’re more likely to stay in that mediocre range — avoiding terrible performance, but also missing the chance to be our best.”
This is why so many people settle for mediocrity — not because they lack potential, but because they fear failure. By avoiding the risk of falling short, they also miss the chance to excel. They’ll never know how good they could be because they never allow themselves to fully try.
“A lot of people back off of their passion because they don't want the heat that comes with the highs, you know?” Aoyagi says. “Yes, there are great highs. But there are also great lows.”
This truth doesn’t just apply to athletes and other high achievers. It’s true for anyone who dreams big, dares to care deeply, or puts themselves out there — the very essence of passionate living. High performance and passionate living both demand courage — the courage to embrace uncertainty and take risks. Only an open heart can be broken — and the more open it is, the more it feels.
“You’re just laying it all out there,” Aoyagi says. “It’s scary. And it’s hard.”
So why take the risk? Why open yourself to heartbreak, failure, or disappointment?
Because for most of us, the alternative is far worse. A life without passion is a life where every day feels the same, where the gnawing question — What if this is all there is?— never goes away. Protecting our hearts might limit disappointment, but it also shields us from joy, connection, and the thrill of truly living.
Passionate living teaches us to embrace vulnerability, to see life as something to be experienced fully rather than endured safely. It’s messy, unpredictable, and often heartbreaking. But the alternative — a life of muted emotions and careful choices — feels like a betrayal of what it means to be alive.
For years, I protected myself from failure, not realizing I was also shielding myself from joy. Now, every day feels vivid and in technicolor (no more grayscale living). But with the highs come the lows — moments where I wonder if the good was just a dream.
And yet, I’ve come to understand: this is the cost of living with an open heart. One day, I’m on top of the world, connected to that childhood version of me — full of wonder and joy. The next, I’m at my lowest, wondering if the highs were just a foolish dream. I’ve cried more in the past few years than I did in the decade before. But then the fog lifts. A good night’s sleep helps. A little perspective does, too.
When we open ourselves to joy, we open ourselves to pain. It’s growth and heartbreak, wonder and loss, all tangled together. Passionate living isn’t just about chasing the highs or avoiding the lows. It’s about embracing all of it — the messiness, the beauty, the full spectrum of what it means to be alive.
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