You'd have to think that you're at least decent, or you couldn't

Martin Mull once said: “You’d have to think that you’re at least decent, or you couldn’t get up every morning and do it. I think if I live long enough, I might be pretty good.” These words, though spoken with humor, contain a wisdom that has guided artisans, athletes, and seekers of every age. It is the recognition that perseverance demands belief, and that mastery is not a sudden fire but a slow and patient flame.

To call oneself at least decent is not arrogance but survival. No one could rise each morning, confront the challenges of craft, endure the failures and frustrations, without the small spark of confidence that the effort has meaning. This modest belief is the shield against despair. For even when greatness feels distant, the conviction that one is on the right path sustains the journey. Mull reminds us that self-belief, however small, is the seed of all accomplishment.

The second half of his words—“if I live long enough, I might be pretty good”—reveals the humility of the craftsman. True mastery is never claimed quickly. The sculptor spends decades shaping stone, the musician spends a lifetime refining notes, the philosopher grows wise not in youth but in old age. Mull’s words are an echo of this ancient truth: that excellence is not an endpoint but a horizon, always visible yet always receding, drawing us forward without end.

History abounds with such examples. Leonardo da Vinci, though celebrated in his lifetime, considered himself still a student of nature, never satisfied with what he had achieved. The Japanese potters of old spoke of their finest works not being made until their hands were wrinkled with age. Even Confucius wrote that only at seventy did he feel fully aligned with the way. In all these voices, as in Mull’s, we hear the same teaching: greatness requires not only effort but time, and the patience to walk a road without rushing.

There is also a deeper strength in these words: the blending of humor and endurance. Mull does not despair of his long journey; he makes light of it. This too is wisdom. For to approach the endless task of growth with bitterness is to be crushed beneath it, but to approach it with laughter is to carry the weight with grace. The ancients knew the power of humor in hardship, for even a smile can be armor against despair.

The lesson here is clear: believe enough in yourself to rise, even when greatness feels far away. Accept that you are a work in progress, and that time is your ally, not your enemy. Let each morning be a renewal of this vow: to keep going, to keep learning, to keep shaping yourself into something greater. Do not demand perfection today; instead, seek to be a little better, knowing that if life grants you long enough years, your perseverance will carve you into something rare.

Therefore, remember this teaching: mastery is not seized but grown, watered each day by faith and effort. Call yourself at least decent, rise in the morning, and walk forward. And if you are blessed with time, you too may one day look back and see that, at last, you have become not only good, but truly great.