One of the marks of a gift is to have the courage of it.

In a voice rich with the wisdom of self-knowledge and creative defiance, Katherine Anne Porter, one of the great literary spirits of the twentieth century, once declared: “One of the marks of a gift is to have the courage of it.” These words, spare yet profound, speak to the eternal struggle between talent and fear, between the divine spark of ability and the mortal hesitation that so often dims its light. In them lies a call not merely to recognize one’s gift, but to claim it — to stand unafraid in the power and responsibility that such a gift demands.

The origin of this reflection comes from Porter’s own life, a life marked by hardship, loss, and relentless pursuit of artistic truth. Born into poverty in the American South and later rising to literary acclaim, she knew the solitude of the writer’s path — the doubts, the rejections, and the inner battles that test every creator’s spirit. To her, a “gift” was not merely talent, but a sacred trust. It is not enough, she believed, to be given the flame of creativity or insight; one must also possess the courage to let it burn brightly, even when it exposes the self to judgment or misunderstanding.

In this way, Porter’s courage mirrors that of all those who dare to live by their gifts. For every writer who speaks truth, there comes the fear of silence; for every artist who paints from the soul, the dread of ridicule; for every visionary who seeks to shape a better world, the loneliness of standing apart. The “mark of a gift,” then, is not merely its beauty, but the bravery it requires. To possess a gift without the courage to use it is to bury it alive. But to wield it — to live by it, to suffer for it, to nurture it despite doubt — is to fulfill one’s true purpose.

Consider the story of Vincent van Gogh, whose art, though unappreciated in life, was born from fearless devotion to his inner vision. Tormented by poverty and illness, he painted not for praise but from necessity — because his gift demanded expression. Though the world called him mad, his courage to follow his gift transformed his suffering into beauty that endures beyond centuries. Had he lacked that courage, the gift would have perished unseen, and the world would have lost a language of light and color that speaks to the very soul of humanity.

In Porter’s philosophy, courage is the alchemy that transforms a gift from potential into power. It is easy to admire the talents of others, to dream of greatness, but to act upon one’s own talent — to reveal it, to risk failure — that is the harder path. Courage is the heart’s consent to the unknown. It is the quiet decision to say, “I will do what I was made to do,” even when the world offers no reassurance. In this way, every person who follows their calling becomes a hero of the spirit — not through conquest or fame, but through faith in their own purpose.

But Porter’s wisdom extends beyond art. Every human being possesses some gift — a kindness, a skill, a passion, a truth — that can enrich the world. Yet fear often silences these gifts: fear of judgment, fear of failure, fear of inadequacy. To have “the courage of one’s gift” is to resist such fear. It is to live authentically, to trust that what one carries within has value. The world, she implies, does not need more perfection; it needs more bravery — souls willing to offer their imperfect, shining selves.

Let this then be the lesson to all who hear: Do not hide your gift beneath doubt or hesitation. Cultivate it with patience, guard it with strength, and share it with humility. The world’s progress has always depended on those who dared to trust the call within them — the poet who writes, the teacher who inspires, the craftsman who creates beauty from the ordinary.

For as Katherine Anne Porter reminds us, talent alone is not enough; it must be wedded to courage. To be gifted is a blessing, but to have the courage of that gift — to live it, to defend it, to give it freely — is the true mark of greatness. And those who possess both, though they walk through fear and solitude, leave behind them the luminous trail by which others may find their way.