True growth demands courage not cowardice. To acquire a new skill, especially in a rapidly evolving world shaped by younger, more agile minds, we must be willing to look foolish. To accept instruction from those we once tutored. To admit ignorance in spaces where we were once experts. Sometimes, the younger teacher will mock your slowness. Sometimes, the digital platform will remind you of your obsolescence. And yet, this is the heat that tempers steel. This is the pressure that creates diamonds.
In a previous essay, I explored a debilitating cultural affliction I termed the Beggar’s Mindset, a condition rooted in dependency and entitlement, perpetuated by decades of political dysfunction, economic disempowerment, and cultural erosion. Today, I take a deliberate turn towards a more constructive ideal: the Growth Mindset. If the beggar’s mindset chains individuals and societies to inertia and helplessness, the growth mindset offers a liberating path, one paved with discomfort, yet leading to profound personal, professional, and communal transformation.
The inspiration came unexpectedly. The other day, my wife asked me, “How are your books doing?” By that, she meant sales, metrics like weekly or monthly performance on platforms like Amazon. Now, my wife wouldn’t quite describe herself as a bibliophile. She’s not one to get lost in the aisles of a bookstore or burn the midnight oil leafing through philosophical texts. Her reading style is more eclectic, drawn to snippets and summaries, headlines and highlights. Yet, she read all five of my books, cover to cover and in record time.
Why would someone who doesn’t naturally gravitate toward books immerse herself so deeply in mine? Part of it, I suspect, is love and loyalty, the quiet strength of a partner who supports without prompting. But more profoundly, she found something in the pages that resonated. She described the books as “transformative.” And I could tell she meant it, not only from the way she devoured them but also from her probing questions, her thoughtful critiques, and the philosophical rabbit holes she nudged me into. In fact, her reflections gave me cause to reconsider character arcs and even contemplate future revisions.
So when she asked me how the books were doing, I offered an honest answer: they’re performing decently, but they could better. The issue lies not in the quality of the work, but in my own deep-seated discomfort with self-promotion. I believe in the merit of the writing. I know the stories resonate, that they can move hearts and provoke thought. But I hesitate to champion them openly, especially among friends.
Something about urging people, especially those within my social circle, to buy my books or write reviews feels like trespassing on the boundaries of personal connection. I’ve always found it difficult to ask for favors, even from those who’ve asked for mine countless times.
I worry that if I talk about my books too often, I’ll come across as self-absorbed or overbearing. I want readers to discover them organically, drawn in by their substance rather than pressured by my persistence. There’s an Igbo proverb that says, ahia oma na ere onwe ya—a good product sells itself. But here’s where I’ve fundamentally misunderstood the dynamics of the modern world.
We live in a time of digital saturation with relentless distraction. Facebook posts, Instagram reels, Twitter threads, TikTok trends, we are drowning in a sea of content. Amid this digital cacophony,
even the most luminous ideas can wither in obscurity ,unless actively shouts its existence from the rooftops. If I don’t advocate for my work, strategically and persistently, how can I expect others to even know it exists, let alone value it?
There’s a saying that everyone wants to make heaven, but no one wants to die. Similarly, everyone wants success, but few are willing to endure the discomfort necessary to achieve it. We want recognition without visibility, excellence without exposure, rewards without risks.
This is why I deeply admire the modern hustler, not only the wildly successful entrepreneur but also the persistent street vendor, the aspiring musician, the fledgling tech innovator. They grasp an eternal truth: visibility is survival. They don’t wait for the world to stumble upon their brilliance. They make the world notice. Through newsletters, ads, social media posts, and expertly curated algorithms, they stay present in our consciousness. The first time you see their product, you ignore it. The second time, maybe you pause. By the fifth time, you’re buying. That’s the power of intentional presence, wrapped in the audacity to face rejection repeatedly without retreating.
And this, at its core, is the growth mindset: the willingness to transcend your comfort zone, to court awkwardness, to fail publicly, and to learn as you go. It’s not about pestering family and friends, nor about being overbearing. It’s about understanding that visibility isn’t vanity, it’s strategy. Without it, even brilliance fades into irrelevance.
Growth is never elegant. It’s often chaotic, painful, and humbling. I see this truth unfold in my daughter, Nkechi. She understands Igbo, our native tongue, but hesitates to speak it. Her fear? That she won’t sound authentic. That her pronunciation will betray her diasporic upbringing. She dreads the embarrassment of getting it wrong, of being laughed at by invisible critics. But what she doesn’t realize is that every misstep is part of mastery. That those who hear her, even with errors, would likely applaud her attempt, knowing how rare it is for children of the diaspora to even try.
Yet, fear is a master illusionist. It magnifies what might go wrong while blinding us to the world of encouragement we often never allow ourselves to receive. In staying silent, she misses the chance to grow. And in that, she mirrors so many of us: competent in potential, yet paralyzed by imagined judgment.
True growth demands courage not cowardice. To acquire a new skill, especially in a rapidly evolving world shaped by younger, more agile minds, we must be willing to look foolish. To accept instruction from those we once tutored. To admit ignorance in spaces where we were once experts. Sometimes, the younger teacher will mock your slowness. Sometimes, the digital platform will remind you of your obsolescence. And yet, this is the heat that tempers steel. This is the pressure that creates diamonds.
There’s an old axiom: “Pressure makes diamonds.” Yes, it’s a cliché. But clichés endure because they speak to universal truths. Pressure, whether it comes from social vulnerability, professional reinvention, or internal reckoning, is the crucible of growth. Sidestep it, and you remain safe but stagnant. Embrace it, and you emerge stronger, wiser, and more radiant.
In my own case, I now recognize that I have, for too long, chosen comfort over courage. I’ve cloaked my reluctance to promote my work in the language of humility, when in truth, it has been fear, fear of judgment, fear of being misunderstood. But hiding brilliance is not modesty; it’s wastefulness. A buried message serves no one. A hidden voice cannot inspire.
To anyone reading this, whether you’re a young professional hesitant to speak up, a parent learning new skills in midlife, an artist uncertain about sharing your work, or a community leader unsure if your words will matter, lean into the discomfort. Speak the broken Igbo. Pitch the half-baked idea. Publish the imperfect poem. Post your business link one more time. Risk being ignored. Risk being ridiculed. Because somewhere in that painful process lies your breakthrough.
Ultimately, the growth mindset is not merely a productivity hack or an entrepreneurial buzzword. It is a belief system, a quiet conviction that we are not fixed beings, but evolving ones. That our best selves are not relics of the past but promises waiting to be fulfilled. That somewhere beyond the awkward silence, the uncertain stutter, and the trembling first step, is a version of ourselves we were always meant to become.
And that journey, however rocky, however humbling, is the most worthwhile endeavor of all. Even if it means walking barefoot over the jagged stones of our own self-doubt
Osmund Agbo is a medical doctor and author. His works include, Black Grit, White Knuckles: The Philosophy of Black Renaissance and a fiction work titled The Velvet Court: Courtesan Chronicles. His latest works, Pray, Let the Shaman Die and Ma’am, I Do Not Come to You for Love, have just been released. He can be reached@ eagleosmund@yahoo.com
