Grit Read online

  Praise for Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance

  “Profoundly important. For eons, we’ve been trapped inside the myth of innate talent. Angela Duckworth shines a bright light into a truer understanding of how we achieve. We owe her a great debt.”

  —David Shenk, author of The Genius in All of Us: New Insights into Genetics, Talent, and IQ

  “Enlightening . . . Grit teaches that life’s high peaks aren’t necessarily conquered by the naturally nimble but, rather, by those willing to endure, wait out the storm, and try again.”

  —Ed Viesturs, seven-time climber of Mount Everest and author of No Shortcuts to the Top

  “Masterful . . . Grit offers a truly sane perspective: that true success comes when we devote ourselves to endeavors that give us joy and purpose.”

  —Arianna Huffington, author of Thrive

  “Readable, compelling, and totally persuasive. The ideas in this book have the potential to transform education, management, and the way its readers live. Angela Duckworth’s Grit is a national treasure.”

  —Lawrence H. Summers, former secretary of the treasury and President Emeritus at Harvard University

  “Fascinating. Angela Duckworth pulls together decades of psychological research, inspiring success stories from business and sports, and her own unique personal experience and distills it all into a set of practical strategies to make yourself and your children more motivated, more passionate, and more persistent at work and at school.”

  —Paul Tough, author of How Children Succeed

  “A thoughtful and engaging exploration of what predicts success. Grit takes on widespread misconceptions and predictors of what makes us strive harder and push further . . . Duckworth’s own story, wound throughout her research, ends up demonstrating her theory best: passion and perseverance make up grit.”

  —Tory Burch, chairman, CEO and designer of Tory Burch

  “An important book . . . In these pages, the leading scholarly expert on the power of grit (what my mom called ‘stick-to-it-iveness’) carries her message to a wider audience, using apt anecdotes and aphorisms to illustrate how we can usefully apply her insights to our own lives and those of our kids.”

  —Robert D. Putnam, professor of public policy at Harvard University and author of Bowling Alone and Our Kids

  “Empowering . . . Angela Duckworth compels attention with her idea that regular individuals who exercise self-control and perseverance can reach as high as those who are naturally talented—that your mindset is as important as your mind.”

  —Soledad O’Brien, chairman of Starfish Media Group and former coanchor of CNN’s American Morning

  “Invaluable . . . In a world where access to knowledge is unprecedented, this book describes the key trait of those who will optimally take advantage of it. Grit will inspire everyone who reads it to stick to something hard that they have a passion for.”

  —Sal Khan, founder of Khan Academy

  “I love an idea that challenges our conventional wisdom and Grit does just that! Put aside what you think you know about getting ahead and outlasting your competition, even if they are more talented. Getting smarter won’t help you—sticking with it will!”

  —Simon Sinek, author of Start With Why and Leaders Eat Last

  “Incredibly important . . . There is deeply embodied grit, which is born of love, purpose, truth to one’s core under ferocious heat, and a relentless passion for what can only be revealed on the razor’s edge; and there is the cool, patient, disciplined cultivation and study of resilience that can teach us all how to get there. Angela Duckworth’s masterpiece straddles both worlds, offering a level of nuance that I haven’t read before.”

  —Josh Waitzkin, international chess master, Tai Chi Push Hands world champion, and author of The Art of Learning

  “A combination of rich science, compelling stories, crisp graceful prose, and appealingly personal examples . . . Without a doubt, this is the most transformative, eye-opening book I’ve read this year.”

  —Sonja Lyubomirsky, professor, University of California, Riverside and author of The How of Happiness

  “This book gets into your head, which is where it belongs . . . For educators who want our kids to succeed, this is an indispensable read.”

  —Joel Klein, former chancellor, New York City public schools

  “Grit delivers! Angela Duckworth shares the stories, the science, and the positivity behind sustained success . . . A must-read.”

  —Barbara Fredrickson, author of Positivity and Love 2.0 and president of the International Positive Psychology Association

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  CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  PART I: WHAT GRIT IS AND WHY IT MATTERS

  CHAPTER 1: SHOWING UP

  CHAPTER 2: DISTRACTED BY TALENT

  CHAPTER 3: EFFORT COUNTS TWICE

  CHAPTER 4: HOW GRITTY ARE YOU?

  CHAPTER 5: GRIT GROWS

  PART II: GROWING GRIT FROM THE INSIDE OUT

  CHAPTER 6: INTEREST

  CHAPTER 7: PRACTICE

  CHAPTER 8: PURPOSE

  CHAPTER 9: HOPE

  PART III: GROWING GRIT FROM THE OUTSIDE IN

  CHAPTER 10: PARENTING FOR GRIT

  CHAPTER 11: THE PLAYING FIELDS OF GRIT

  CHAPTER 12: A CULTURE OF GRIT

  CHAPTER 13: CONCLUSION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  RECOMMENDED READING

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  NOTES

  INDEX

  For Jason

  PREFACE

  Growing up, I heard the word genius a lot.

  It was always my dad who brought it up. He liked to say, apropos of nothing at all, “You know, you’re no genius!” This pronouncement might come in the middle of dinner, during a commercial break for The Love Boat, or after he flopped down on the couch with the Wall Street Journal.

  I don’t remember how I responded. Maybe I pretended not to hear.

  My dad’s thoughts turned frequently to genius, talent, and who had more than whom. He was deeply concerned with how smart he was. He was deeply concerned with how smart his family was.

  I wasn’t the only problem. My dad didn’t think my brother and sister were geniuses, either. By his yardstick, none of us measured up to Einstein. Apparently, this was a great disappointment. Dad worried that this intellectual handicap would limit what we’d eventually achieve in life.

  Two years ago, I was fortunate enough to be awarded a MacArthur Fellowship, sometimes called the “genius grant.” You don’t apply for the MacArthur. You don’t ask your friends or colleagues to nominate you. Instead, a secret committee that includes the top people in your field decides you’re doing important and creative work.

  When I received the unexpected call telling me the news, my first reaction was one of gratitude and amazement. Then my thoughts turned to my dad and his offhand diagnoses of my intellectual potential. He wasn’t wrong; I didn’t win the MacArthur because I’m leagues smarter than my fellow psychologists. Instead, he had the right answer (“No, she’s not”) to the wrong question (“Is she a genius?”).

  There was about a month between the MacArthur call and its official announcement. Apart from my husband, I wasn’t permitted to tell anyone. That gave me time to ponder the irony of the situation. A girl who is told repeatedly that she’s no genius ends up winning an award for being one. The award goes to her because she has discovered that what we eventually accomplish may depend m
ore on our passion and perseverance than on our innate talent. She has by then amassed degrees from some pretty tough schools, but in the third grade, she didn’t test high enough for the gifted and talented program. Her parents are Chinese immigrants, but she didn’t get lectured on the salvation of hard work. Against stereotype, she can’t play a note of piano or violin.

  The morning the MacArthur was announced, I walked over to my parents’ apartment. My mom and dad had already heard the news, and so had several “aunties,” who were calling in rapid succession to offer congratulations. Finally, when the phone stopped ringing, my dad turned to me and said, “I’m proud of you.”

  I had so much to say in response, but instead I just said, “Thanks, Dad.”

  There was no sense rehashing the past. I knew that, in fact, he was proud of me.

  Still, part of me wanted to travel back in time to when I was a young girl. I’d tell him what I know now.

  I would say, “Dad, you say I’m no genius. I won’t argue with that. You know plenty of people who are smarter than I am.” I can imagine his head nodding in sober agreement.

  “But let me tell you something. I’m going to grow up to love my work as much as you love yours. I won’t just have a job; I’ll have a calling. I’ll challenge myself every day. When I get knocked down, I’ll get back up. I may not be the smartest person in the room, but I’ll strive to be the grittiest.”

  And if he was still listening: “In the long run, Dad, grit may matter more than talent.”

  All these years later, I have the scientific evidence to prove my point. What’s more, I know that grit is mutable, not fixed, and I have insights from research about how to grow it.

  This book summarizes everything I’ve learned about grit.

  When I finished writing it, I went to visit my dad. Chapter by chapter, over the course of days, I read him every line. He’s been battling Parkinson’s disease for the last decade or so, and I’m not entirely sure how much he understood. Still, he seemed to be listening intently, and when I was done, he looked at me. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded once. And then he smiled.

  Part I

  WHAT GRIT IS AND WHY IT MATTERS

  Chapter 1

  SHOWING UP

  By the time you set foot on the campus of the United States Military Academy at West Point, you’ve earned it.

  The admissions process for West Point is at least as rigorous as for the most selective universities. Top scores on the SAT or ACT and outstanding high school grades are a must. But when you apply to Harvard, you don’t need to start your application in the eleventh grade, and you don’t need to secure a nomination from a member of Congress, a senator, or the vice president of the United States. You don’t, for that matter, have to get superlative marks in a fitness assessment that includes running, push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups.

  Each year, in their junior year of high school, more than 14,000 applicants begin the admissions process. This pool is winnowed to just 4,000 who succeed in getting the required nomination. Slightly more than half of those applicants—about 2,500—meet West Point’s rigorous academic and physical standards, and from that select group just 1,200 are admitted and enrolled. Nearly all the men and women who come to West Point were varsity athletes; most were team captains.

  And yet, one in five cadets will drop out before graduation. What’s more remarkable is that, historically, a substantial fraction of dropouts leave in their very first summer, during an intensive seven-week training program named, even in official literature, Beast Barracks. Or, for short, just Beast.

  Who spends two years trying to get into a place and then drops out in the first two months?

  Then again, these are no ordinary months. Beast is described in the West Point handbook for new cadets as “the most physically and emotionally demanding part of your four years at West Point . . . designed to help you make the transition from new cadet to Soldier.”

  A Typical Day at Beast Barracks

  5:00 a.m.

  Wake-up

  5:30 a.m.

  Reveille Formation

  5:30 to 6:55 a.m.

  Physical Training

  6:55 to 7:25 a.m.

  Personal Maintenance

  7:30 to 8:15 a.m.

  Breakfast

  8:30 to 12:45 p.m.

  Training/Classes

  1:00 to 1:45 p.m.

  Lunch

  2:00 to 3:45 p.m.

  Training/Classes

  4:00 to 5:30 p.m.

  Organized Athletics

  5:30 to 5:55 p.m.

  Personal Maintenance

  6:00 to 6:45 p.m.

  Dinner

  7:00 to 9:00 p.m.

  Training/Classes

  9:00 to 10:00 p.m.

  Commander’s Time

  10:00 p.m.

  Taps

  The day begins at 5:00 a.m. By 5:30, cadets are in formation, standing at attention, honoring the raising of the United States flag. Then follows a hard workout—running or calisthenics—followed by a nonstop rotation of marching in formation, classroom instruction, weapons training, and athletics. Lights out, to a melancholy bugle song called “Taps,” occurs at 10:00 p.m. And on the next day the routine starts over again. Oh, and there are no weekends, no breaks other than meals, and virtually no contact with family and friends outside of West Point.

  One cadet’s description of Beast: “You are challenged in a variety of ways in every developmental area—mentally, physically, militarily, and socially. The system will find your weaknesses, but that’s the point—West Point toughens you.”

  * * *

  So, who makes it through Beast?

  It was 2004 and my second year of graduate school in psychology when I set about answering that question, but for decades, the U.S. Army has been asking the same thing. In fact, it was in 1955—almost fifty years before I began working on this puzzle—that a young psychologist named Jerry Kagan was drafted into the army, ordered to report to West Point, and assigned to test new cadets for the purpose of identifying who would stay and who would leave. As fate would have it, Jerry was not only the first psychologist to study dropping out at West Point, he was also the first psychologist I met in college. I ended up working part-time in his lab for two years.

  Jerry described early efforts to separate the wheat from the chaff at West Point as dramatically unsuccessful. He recalled in particular spending hundreds of hours showing cadets cards printed with pictures and asking the young men to make up stories to fit them. This test was meant to unearth deep-seated, unconscious motives, and the general idea was that cadets who visualized noble deeds and courageous accomplishments should be the ones who would graduate instead of dropping out. Like a lot of ideas that sound good in principle, this one didn’t work so well in practice. The stories the cadets told were colorful and fun to listen to, but they had absolutely nothing to do with decisions the cadets made in their actual lives.

  Since then, several more generations of psychologists devoted themselves to the attrition issue, but not one researcher could say with much certainty why some of the most promising cadets routinely quit when their training had just begun.

  Soon after learning about Beast, I found my way to the office of Mike Matthews, a military psychologist who’s been a West Point faculty member for years. Mike explained that the West Point admissions process successfully identified men and women who had the potential to thrive there. In particular, admissions staff calculate for each applicant something called the Whole Candidate Score, a weighted average of SAT or ACT exam scores, high school rank adjusted for the number of students in the applicant’s graduating class, expert appraisals of leadership potential, and performance on objective measures of physical fitness.

  You can think of the Whole Candidate Score as West Point’s best guess at how much talent applicants have for the diverse rigors of its four-year program. In other words, it’s an estimate of how easily cadets will master the many skills required of a mi
litary leader.

  The Whole Candidate Score is the single most important factor in West Point admissions, and yet it didn’t reliably predict who would make it through Beast. In fact, cadets with the highest Whole Candidate Scores were just as likely to drop out as those with the lowest. And this was why Mike’s door was open to me.

  From his own experience joining the air force as a young man, Mike had a clue to the riddle. While the rigors of his induction weren’t quite as harrowing as those of West Point, there were notable similarities. The most important were challenges that exceeded current skills. For the first time in their lives, Mike and the other recruits were being asked, on an hourly basis, to do things they couldn’t yet do. “Within two weeks,” Mike recalls, “I was tired, lonely, frustrated, and ready to quit—as were all of my classmates.”

  Some did quit, but Mike did not.

  What struck Mike was that rising to the occasion had almost nothing to do with talent. Those who dropped out of training rarely did so from lack of ability. Rather, what mattered, Mike said, was a “never give up” attitude.

  * * *

  Around that time, it wasn’t just Mike Matthews who was talking to me about this kind of hang-in-there posture toward challenge. As a graduate student just beginning to probe the psychology of success, I was interviewing leaders in business, art, athletics, journalism, academia, medicine, and law: Who are the people at the very top of your field? What are they like? What do you think makes them special?

  Some of the characteristics that emerged in these interviews were very field-specific. For instance, more than one businessperson mentioned an appetite for taking financial risks: “You’ve got to be able to make calculated decisions about millions of dollars and still go to sleep at night.” But this seemed entirely beside the point for artists, who instead mentioned a drive to create: “I like making stuff. I don’t know why, but I do.” In contrast, athletes mentioned a different kind of motivation, one driven by the thrill of victory: “Winners love to go head-to-head with other people. Winners hate losing.”