A famous quote by the 26th US president, Theodore (Teddy) Roosevelt, often gets tossed around when discussing courage and perseverance.

It's from a speech he gave in 1910, called "Citizenship in a Republic," but most people remember it as "The Man in the Arena."

He says:

"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."

We live in a world of critics—people who love pointing out our mistakes and delight in telling us how we could have done things better.

But the truth is that those critics don't count.

Sure, they might have some helpful feedback now and then, but they're not the ones out there taking risks and putting themselves on the line.

Just think about it.

Anyone can sit on the sidelines and critique the performance of others. It takes zero courage to point out someone else's flaws. But to step into the arena, to put yourself out there, knowing full well that you might fail—that takes guts.

And here's the thing: if you're brave enough to step into the arena, you're almost guaranteed to get your ass kicked at some point. You will fail, you will stumble, and you will get knocked down.

But that's also where the magic happens.

Take any successful person you admire—an athlete, an entrepreneur, an artist. They didn't just wake up one day and achieve greatness without breaking a sweat. They spent countless hours practising, working, failing, and then getting back up again.

Michael Jordan, one of the greatest basketball players ever, once said, "I've missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. Twenty-six times, I've been trusted to take the game-winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

Jordan's point is clear: success isn't about avoiding failure but embracing it, learning from it, and continuing to push forward despite it.

It is the essence of being "in the arena." Yes, it's messy, it's painful, and it's often thankless work. But it's also where you grow, discover your strengths, and ultimately succeed.

It is also why the critics don't count.

They're not invested in your journey. They haven't put in the blood, sweat, and tears that you have. They haven't faced the fear and uncertainty of daring to try something new or challenging.

They're just spectators, offering opinions from a safe distance.

This doesn't mean that all feedback is worthless. Constructive criticism from people genuinely caring about your growth can be incredibly valuable.

But there's a big difference between constructive feedback and idle criticism. Constructive feedback comes from a place of support and a desire to see you improve. Idle criticism is just noise, often born from envy or a lack of understanding.

So, how do you deal with the inevitable failures and setbacks that come with being in the arena?

Firstly, you accept that failure is part of the process. It doesn't define you; it's just a step along the way. Every time you fail, you learn something new, gain experience, and build resilience.

Secondly, you surround yourself with people in the arena who understand the struggle and can offer support, encouragement, and perspective.

These are your fellow warriors, and they're the ones who truly matter. They get what it means to strive valiantly, to dare greatly, and they'll be there to help pick you up when you fall.

Lastly, you keep your eyes on the prize.

Remember why you're in the arena in the first place. Whether it's a personal goal, a passion project, or a dream you're chasing, keeping your purpose front and centre will help you stay motivated even when the going gets tough.

In his book "Skin in the Game", author Nassim Taleb talks about having something at stake - having skin in the game.

So, what does he mean by this?

In essence, "having skin in the game" means that you have something personal at risk. Your actions have direct consequences for you, not just for others. This concept is vital in understanding why critics often lack skin in the game and don't count in the grand scheme of things.

When you have skin in the game, you're more careful, invested, and likely to put in the effort needed to succeed. You're also more credible because you're walking the talk.

Contrast this with a critic who has nothing to lose. They can spout opinions and advice all day long without ever facing the consequences of being wrong. Their criticisms are detached from the realities of the arena.

Taleb's perspective highlights why it's easy for people to criticise from the sidelines.

They don't have to deal with the fallout of taking risks. They don't experience the bruises, the sweat, and the tears. In short, they don't have skin in the game. This detachment makes their opinions less valuable compared to those who are actually in the arena.

This idea complements Roosevelt's message perfectly.

After all, the man in the arena is the very embodiment of skin in the game. He's the one who bears the consequences of his actions, who experiences both the highs and lows firsthand.

There is no doubt that getting your ass kicked in the arena is tough.

Consider entrepreneurs as an example. They put their money, time, and reputations on the line. Many startups fail, but each failure is a learning opportunity. The entrepreneurs who eventually succeed do so because they've accumulated a wealth of experience and knowledge from their previous attempts.

They've faced the music, felt the sting of failure, and emerged stronger for it. Taleb would argue that this is precisely why their opinions and decisions carry weight—they've been in the arena and have the scars to prove it.

Moreover, having skin in the game aligns incentives in a way that promotes integrity and responsibility. When you stand to lose something tangible, you're more likely to act ethically and make prudent decisions.

It is true in business, politics, and personal endeavours.

We respect those who take risks and succeed despite the odds because they've proven their mettle through their actions, not just words.

Roosevelt's "Man in the Arena" and Taleb's "Skin in the Game" teach us that actual achievement is reserved for those who dare to enter the arena, those who have something to lose, and those who grow stronger with every challenge they face.

So when you face criticism or feel the sting of failure, remember you're in good company. The man in the arena isn't perfect, but he's out there giving it his all, and that's what truly counts.

Until next time, may you keep striving, daring greatly, and staying confident that every stumble brings you one step closer to triumph.

Dion Le Roux