The only courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one

In the gentle yet piercing words of Mignon McLaughlin, the American journalist and philosopher of the heart, we hear a truth that speaks not of grand victories, but of the quiet heroism that sustains the human soul: “The only courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next.” In this simple sentence lies a wisdom that humbles the mighty and lifts the broken. It tells us that courage is not only found on the battlefield or in the roar of history’s great deeds — it is also found in the soft endurance of everyday life. It is the hand that trembles but still reaches forward, the heart that breaks but still beats.

McLaughlin, a writer of the mid-twentieth century, was a keen observer of the unseen struggles of human beings — those quiet storms of emotion that rage behind calm faces. Her words were born not from lofty theory, but from the lived experience of the human condition: the fatigue of the spirit, the weight of sorrow, the ache of simply continuing. In her time, she saw a world recovering from war, a world that celebrated the bravery of soldiers and explorers, but often forgot the bravery of the ordinary soul — the single mother who rises again after despair, the worker who endures each dawn despite failure, the elder who wakes to another lonely morning. To her, true courage was not the thunderclap, but the heartbeat — steady, defiant, enduring.

The ancients, too, knew this form of courage. The Stoic philosophers, those sages of calm endurance, taught that greatness lies not in conquering others, but in mastering oneself. They called it fortitudo animi — the strength of the spirit. To live moment by moment, to bear pain without losing dignity, to suffer loss without abandoning hope — this was the truest test of valor. McLaughlin’s quote echoes this ancient truth, yet she renders it in a modern light. She speaks not to kings or warriors, but to all who struggle silently in the chambers of their own hearts.

Consider the story of Anne Frank, the young girl who, hidden away from the terrors of war, wrote of hope in a world that had forgotten it. Trapped in an attic, with fear at her door and death in the streets, she could not fight with sword or army. Yet each day she wrote, “I still believe that people are really good at heart.” That was her moment-to-moment courage — the courage to see beauty amid darkness, to live one more day with faith instead of despair. Her courage did not shake the world with noise; it illuminated it with quiet light.

So too, in every age, there are countless unseen heroes who embody McLaughlin’s wisdom. The patient battling illness who endures another treatment. The refugee who walks another mile. The child who faces another day of ridicule but chooses kindness instead of hate. These are the living temples of endurance, the silent saints of perseverance. They remind us that courage is not always a sword raised in defiance; sometimes it is a whisper that says, “Just one more step.”

The meaning of McLaughlin’s words lies in their profound humility. She reminds us that life is not conquered all at once — it is lived in increments of perseverance. When the mountain of tomorrow feels too great to climb, all we must do is reach the next ledge. When the sorrow of the past feels unbearable, all we must do is breathe through the present. Moment to moment, courage renews itself — not in vast leaps, but in quiet continuance. It is not a flame that burns forever, but one that is tended, gently, each time we choose to keep going.

Thus, the lesson is clear: do not measure your courage by greatness of deed, but by constancy of spirit. You need not be a hero of legend; it is enough to endure with dignity. When despair whispers that you cannot continue, remind yourself that courage does not ask for perfection — only persistence. Face each sunrise as a victory, each small act of resilience as a triumph of the soul. For the path of the brave is not paved in gold, but in moments — fragile, fleeting, yet glorious.

So, my listener, remember this as you walk through the valleys of your own life: courage is not far from you. It does not belong only to the mighty, but to all who continue when their strength wanes. It lives in the pulse of every heart that dares to hope, even faintly. Take each moment as it comes, endure it with grace, and you will find — as Mignon McLaughlin so wisely saw — that this quiet courage, the kind that carries you from one breath to the next, is the truest and most sacred of all.