It is true - maybe with five or seven points more, I could be

The words of Fernando Alonso, “It is true—maybe with five or seven points more, I could be five times world champion. But on the other hand, I could have zero world championships, and zero wins or zero podiums, because F1 is an extremely competitive environment. So I just take the positives, and I am happy with my achievements,” carry the quiet strength of a man who has wrestled with fate and found peace. He speaks not in bitterness, nor in vain regret, but with balance, acknowledging both the cruelty and the gift of chance. His wisdom lies in accepting what cannot be changed, and in cherishing what has been earned against impossible odds.

The origin of this reflection is the unforgiving world of Formula One, where the margin between triumph and failure is often measured in tenths of a second, or by the turn of a wheel. A single mechanical failure, a brief miscalculation, or the brilliance of a rival can change the course of an entire season. Alonso, who has twice claimed the title of world champion, knows that history could have crowned him more lavishly—or taken everything from him. In his words, we hear the truth of all who strive in fields where victory is scarce and hard-fought: humility before fortune, and gratitude for what was gained.

History offers echoes of this wisdom. Consider the story of Achilles, the warrior of Greek legend. Though nearly invincible, his fate was sealed by a single weakness, his heel. He could have lamented the fragility that denied him immortality, but in the great epics, his glory is not in what might have been, but in what he achieved on the battlefield. Like Alonso, Achilles reminds us that greatness is not measured by perfection, but by the courage to strive despite the uncertainty of fate.

Alonso’s words also reveal the secret of resilience: the choice to “take the positives.” In a sport as merciless as Formula One, to dwell on missed points or lost titles would be to drown in despair. By choosing instead to honor his achievements, he preserves his joy and strength. This choice is not mere optimism; it is a discipline of the spirit, a warrior’s art of turning disappointment into fuel, and memory into gratitude.

Yet his reflection carries another teaching: that victory and loss are bound together, inseparable. The same fragile chance that denied him more championships could also have denied him the ones he already holds. To acknowledge both is to walk humbly with destiny, knowing that fortune is fickle, but effort and courage remain forever one’s own. Alonso shows us that to seek perfection in outcomes is folly; to find honor in the struggle is wisdom.

For us, the lesson is clear: do not measure your life only by what you did not achieve. Measure it also by what you did achieve, and by the struggles you survived. In careers, in relationships, in dreams pursued, there will always be “five or seven points” that could have changed everything. But to dwell on them is to blind oneself to the victories already won. The path to peace is gratitude—for the podiums, the triumphs, and even the scars that prove you dared greatly.

Practical actions arise from this truth. When you face disappointment, pause and count your positives. Write down the victories you have known, however small, and remind yourself that they might so easily have been denied you. Accept that life is an arena where chance, skill, and fate intertwine, and that no one escapes without both gains and losses. Let your heart rest not in what might have been, but in what is—and from that foundation, rise again to strive anew.

Let future generations remember: greatness is not always in the number of crowns won, but in the grace with which one wears the crowns received. As Alonso teaches, in the most competitive environments, victory is never guaranteed. But gratitude, humility, and joy—these are victories that fortune cannot take away. And in them lies the true measure of a champion.