The Internet Has
Too Many Lions

The internet has too many lions.

They stand on cliffs, walk through fire, stare across ruined cities, and roar into storms that appear to have been arranged for the occasion. Somewhere nearby there is usually a man with a sword, a wolf traveling alone, or a Roman soldier preparing to conquer Tuesday. Across the picture, in large letters, is a warning about strength, discipline, loyalty, enemies, or the terrible price the world will pay for having underestimated you.

I suppose a house cat would not carry the same authority.

The message is nearly always the same. Go to war. Crush your weakness. Silence your enemies. Become dangerous. Never retreat. Never surrender. Make them regret doubting you. Apparently, a great many people begin each morning believing they are one cup of coffee away from invading Gaul.

There is nothing wrong with strength. Life will eventually require some from all of us. Courage matters. Discipline matters. There are times when a person must hold his ground, finish what he started, and keep moving after the enthusiasm that carried him through the beginning has gone home. Those truths have been around much longer than the internet—but somewhere along the way we wrapped too much noise around them.

Real courage is usually quieter than the pictures suggest. It seldom has a sword, and almost never has good lighting. Most of the time it looks like an ordinary person doing something difficult without an audience. Nobody adds thunder afterward. There is no quotation across the sky. The moment passes, and the person gets on with the rest of the day.

A man goes to work carrying worries he has told no one about. A woman sits beside someone she loves in a hospital room and keeps her own fear out of her voice. A father admits to his son that he was wrong. Somebody who has been sober for six years drives past the place where one bad decision could end all six of them. Nobody sees the turn signal come on or knows what it cost to keep driving.

Perhaps we overlook it because ordinary courage does not photograph well. There is no starting line, no raised fist, and no cheering crowd. It happens in kitchens, parking lots, hospital corridors, workshops, and quiet bedrooms at three in the morning. It happens when a person decides to make the call, tell the truth, keep the promise, or try once more after the last attempt ended badly.

The lion is easier to sell.

He never has to apologize or listen. He has no mortgage, aging parent, sick wife, or child who has stopped returning his calls. He does not lie awake wondering whether the money will last until Friday. He simply looks toward the horizon while the rest of us are expected to understand that greatness is about to happen.

Real life is more complicated. Sometimes strength means walking away, and sometimes discipline means resting before exhaustion makes the next decision for you. There are things worth quitting, battles that should never have been joined, and people who mistake your patience for permission.

“Never quit” sounds fine until you apply it to the wrong marriage, the wrong business, the wrong grievance, or the wrong version of yourself. A person can waste half a life proving he refuses to surrender to something that stopped being worth winning years ago.

Knowing the difference requires more judgment than a lion can provide.

The internet also has a peculiar fondness for enemies. Every difficult person is toxic. Every disagreement is betrayal. Every setback means someone is trying to stop you. We are told to cut people off, disappear without explanation, and return later as a person they no longer deserve to know. This may be necessary once in a while. More often, it is pride holding a grudge because the grudge is easier to carry than an apology.

Most people are not plotting against us. They are busy with their own troubles. The driver who cut you off probably did not begin his morning determined to ruin yours. The person who failed to praise your success might be trying to survive a failure of his own.

We are rarely the central character in someone else's day, though social media has done a fine job convincing us otherwise.

That may be why the man in the mirror is so often described as an enemy. We are told to go to war against him and not return until we win. It is a stirring idea, provided we do not think about it for very long. The fellow in the mirror will still be there tomorrow morning. If you are lucky, he will be there for many mornings after that. A lifetime is a long time to spend at war with the only person who has to attend every battle.

Accountability matters. A man should be able to look himself in the eye and admit when he has been lazy, dishonest, frightened, selfish, or wrong. There are days when the face in the mirror needs a hard conversation. There are also days when it needs a little mercy. Beating yourself bloody over yesterday does not always improve tomorrow.

The older I get, the less impressed I am by declarations. I pay more attention to what happens when nobody is announcing it. Love is simple in the photograph. It is harder at the kitchen table after a long day, when both people are tired and the same old disagreement has returned wearing a different shirt. That is where character actually gets built—in the long middle, doing the work no one is watching.

There is courage in staying when staying is right, and in leaving when it is not. There is courage in asking for help before pride turns a difficult situation into a disaster.

Perhaps the world would be a little better if strength were shown more often as something useful rather than threatening. A strong back carries weight. A strong hand steadies someone who is losing his footing. Sometimes strength is simply the one calm voice in a room that has forgotten how to listen.

Courage does not require feeling brave. Sometimes a person does the necessary thing while frightened nearly out of his wits. The fear does not cancel the act. It may be the very thing that gives the act meaning. There is no courage in doing what costs you nothing.

We should probably keep a few lions. They are magnificent animals, and every now and then a person needs to be reminded to get up, shake off the dust, and face whatever is waiting. There are worse messages than refusing to be defeated.

Still, I would like to see more pictures of the fellow who got up before daylight, packed his lunch, and went back to work. The woman who made the appointment she had been afraid to make. The old friends who finally sat down and settled what had stood between them. The tired parent reading one more story to a child who will someday remember the voice better than the words.

Those people will never look impressive standing on a cliff. They do not need to.