The organizers brought in a rock-climbing wall, and I plopped down near the wall to eat a snack. I watched the kids excitedly scurry to the top and come whizzing back down.
One girl, about ten years old, made her way to the front of the line. She got strapped into a harness and approached the wall.
What came next was painful to watch. She tried climbing the wall and stumbled again and again. One step up, one step down.
She couldn’t grab a foothold, and the other kids waiting their turn started to become anxious. To my amazement, she didn’t seem to notice her detractors. One step up, one step down.
She went on like this—without making an ounce of a progress—for a good ten minutes. By this point, the kids behind her became loud and restless. They wanted her to stop trying—to stop wasting everyone’s time.
But she kept on. One step up, one step down. Watching her perseverance, something I didn’t have at my age and certainly didn’t have at eight years old, made me cry.
I was so proud of this little girl—this stranger who reminded me of the person I wish I had been. Even if I couldn’t be the best, I wish I tried.
Finally, tired and sweaty, she backed away from the wall. Instead of looking defeated, she had a huge smile on her face. She turned around and ran towards her mom.
“Mom,” she cried. “I almost did it! Can I try again later?”
Found this on the internet. Written by Vanessa Cogshall, on the tiny budha