Happiness Through Humanism

Show Up Anyway: What Sumo Can Teach Us About Resilience

I watch a lot of sumo wrestling. One of the things I love most about it isn’t just the strength or the ritual — it’s the raw, visible lesson in resilience.

Every once in a while, a top-ranked wrestler has an absolutely terrible tournament.

Not just “off their game.” Catastrophic by anyone's standards.

I once watched an Ozeki, 2nd highest rank in the sport, win a tournament and then come back the next tournament and lose 13 out of 15 matches. It was horrifying!

In most professions, that kind of reversal would trigger panic, excuses, or disappearance. But in sumo, there is no hiding. He showed up every day, stepped into the ring, and fought, and lost. Yet, he kept showing up and trying his best.

That’s resilience in its purest form.

In January 2026 one of my favorite wrestlers, Ura, had a 4–11 tournament. Four wins. Eleven losses. One of his losses was especially cruel since he should have won it. In fact, he did win it. He beat the Yokozuna Onosato. The judges overturned his win by claiming a rule that doesn't exist (dead body rule) and ruled the match was a tie and made them wrestle again. And the 2nd time the Yokozuna won.

Imagine beating the best wrestler in the world, feeling that victory, and then having it taken away. Publicly. Officially. Final decision. His comment when asked about it was - I can't be expected to beat a Yokozuna twice in one day. Which is an unusually direct statement of annoyance from a Japanese sumo wrestler.

And yet, despite how clearly unfair that situation was, he showed up the next day smiling.

Not fake smiling. Grounded smiling. Ready-to-fight-again smiling. In fact, one of the reasons I like him so much, is even when he loses, he laughs it off, and just shakes his head.

He keeps showing up. He keeps competing. He he loses a lot. But he keeps engaging fully, even when the results aren't going his way. It's one of the reasons he's a fan favorite.

The Myth of Winning Streaks

We like stories of constant progress and uninterrupted success. They’re clean. They’re inspiring. They’re also rare.

Real performance - whether it is in sports, leadership, activism, inclusion work, and personal growth - looks much messier:

Strong seasons and weak seasons
Big wins and painful reversals
Fair calls and unfair rulings
Breakthroughs and plateaus

No one wins every match. Sometimes you don’t just lose — you lose a lot.

The question isn’t whether you’ll hit a bad stretch.

The question is: Will you show up anyway?

Showing Up Is a Skill — Not a Mood

Most people treat showing up as an emotion-based decision:

“I’ll show up when I feel confident.”
“I’ll show up when things are going well.”
“I’ll show up when I’m winning.”

But resilience doesn’t work that way. Showing up is a behavior — and behaviors can be trained.

In behavioral science terms, you don’t wait for motivation. You build the response pattern first. Action comes before confidence more often than the other way around.

Sumo wrestlers don’t get to skip a day because the last match was unfair.
They don’t get to opt out because their record is embarrassing.
They step out onto the clay anyway.

The Discipline of Continuing

There’s a special kind of strength in continuing when:

You know the odds aren’t in your favor
You feel discouraged
The last outcome was unfair
Your record looks bad
Others are counting you out

Continuing builds identity. It says: I am someone who engages, regardless of outcome.

That identity matters more than any single result.

The Quiet Power of Composure

What struck me most in these losing tournaments wasn’t just participation — it was composure.

No public meltdown.
No visible bitterness.
No withdrawal.

Just steady presence.

That doesn’t mean there’s no disappointment. It means disappointment isn’t in charge.

That’s emotional self-management in action — the same skill set that helps leaders navigate crisis, helps targets of bullying avoid escalation traps, and helps change-makers keep going when resistance shows up.

The Lesson

You will have seasons where things don’t go your way.

You will have stretches where you lose more than you win.
You will experience unfair calls.
You will feel the sting of reversals.

Show up anyway.

Step into the ring.
Do the work.
Engage the moment.
Keep your composure.
Return tomorrow.

Because resilience isn’t built in the victories.

It’s built in the days you show up while losing.

Leadership Takeaway: Show Up Anyway

Resilient leaders don’t wait to feel confident before they act — they learn how to regulate their emotions so they can stay engaged, steady, and effective even during setbacks. Showing up is a trained response, not a personality trait.

If you want a practical, behavioral-science approach to emotional self-management, response control, and conflict resilience, start here:

📘 Learn more: Mastering the 5 Managerial Superpowers
Learn how to control your emotional responses, interrupt escalation cycles, and stay constructive under pressure — so you can show up anyway, especially when it’s hardest.

Core skills: self-awareness • emotional regulation • strategic responding • conflict resilience • anti-bullying communication

The Other Emotion That Comes With Crisis: Annoyance

I was having a great day.

I’d just been trained on a new animal at the zoo—a box turtle named Max. I was looking forward to getting real work done. I was looking forward to knitting a sleeve for a sweater I’m making.

And I did none of that.

Because a crisis showed up and took my entire afternoon—and now, several of the days ahead.

That’s how crisis often works. It doesn’t just scare us. It steals time. It interrupts momentum. It rearranges priorities without asking permission.

Once the immediate danger passed and I knew everyone was okay, the dominant emotion I felt wasn’t fear or sadness.

It was annoyance.

Annoyance Is Part of Crisis Too

I was annoyed that my day had been derailed.
Annoyed that this was going to cost us money.
Annoyed that the next two weeks of my life are now full of logistics, paperwork, and follow-ups instead of the things I had planned.

My real work—once again—has been delayed.
My hobbies. My fun. My focus.

All of it displaced by something I didn’t choose.

That emotion surprised me at first, but it shouldn’t have. Annoyance is a completely normal response to crisis, even though we rarely acknowledge it.

Multiple Things Can Be True

We tend to rank emotions during emergencies. Gratitude is acceptable. Fear is understandable. Relief is expected.

Annoyance feels… inappropriate.

But multiple things can be true at the same time.

You can be grateful that things weren’t worse and frustrated that your life has been disrupted. You can feel compassion for everyone involved and resent the practical consequences that now belong to you.

Annoyance isn’t a moral failure. It’s a reaction to lost time, lost control, and lost momentum.

The real risk isn’t feeling it. The risk is getting stuck in the idea that this isn’t fair.

The Trap of “This Isn’t Fair”

“This isn’t fair” is an understandable thought—and a useless one.

Crises don’t arrive on schedule. Accidents don’t check your calendar. Illness doesn’t care about your plans. Life doesn’t distribute inconvenience evenly.

From a Humanist perspective, this isn’t personal. It’s not punishment. It’s not meaningfully unfair.

It’s just reality doing what reality does.

Once I accept that, I can stop arguing with what happened and shift back into motion:

This happened.
I don’t like it.
Now what needs to be done?

That shift—from grievance to action—is what keeps annoyance from turning into resentment.

What This Looks Like at Work

This same emotional pattern shows up in the workplace all the time.

An employee’s partner gets sick. A child has a crisis. Someone’s mental health collapses. A sudden emergency pulls them away—and now your carefully planned week as a leader is disrupted too.

Deadlines slip. Projects stall. Your own work gets pushed aside.

It’s okay to feel annoyed about that.

Good leadership doesn’t require pretending those feelings don’t exist. It requires not letting them drive your response.

Strong leaders give people grace not because it’s convenient, but because it’s realistic. Every one of us will eventually be the person whose life explodes at the worst possible moment.

Designing for the Inevitable

If there’s any practical takeaway here, it’s this: systems should assume disruption will happen.

Not because people are unreliable—but because life is.

That means:

Building slack into timelines
Avoiding single points of failure
Cross-training instead of hoarding knowledge
Creating cultures where asking for help isn’t punished

This isn’t indulgence. It’s resilience.

Organizations—and leaders—that plan for uninterrupted productivity are fragile by design. Don't be fragile by design!

Accept, Adjust, Continue

I don’t think annoyance needs to be fixed or reframed into gratitude. It just needs to be acknowledged and then set aside.

Accept that crisis will steal time.
Adjust what can be adjusted.
Continue doing the next solvable thing.

That’s how we stay human in the middle of disruption—without letting disruption take more than it already has.

Crisis is a VUCA moment—volatile, uncertain, complex, and ambiguous. Good leaders don’t eliminate those conditions; they help people function within them by grounding teams in reality and focusing on what can be done next.

Leadership Takeaway

Crises don’t just create fear—they create disruption, frustration, and lost momentum. Strong leaders don’t deny those emotions. They acknowledge them and help teams refocus on what can be solved next.

Reality-based leadership means:

Giving people grace when life intrudes
Designing systems that expect disruption
Helping teams move from “this isn’t fair” to “what’s the next actionable step?”

These skills—emotional regulation, realistic problem-solving, and strategic response—are core themes in my book and course, Mastering the Five Managerial Superpowers, which focuses on leading humans as they actually are, not as we wish they’d be.

When Crisis Hits: A Humanist Way of Coping

Today, my husband was in a bad car accident.

Thanks to modern vehicles and sheer luck, he’s okay. The man who hit him is okay too. There are injuries, but nothing life-threatening. We are fortunate—and I don’t use that word lightly.

This can happen to anyone. No one is immune.

A few months ago I went out to lunch with a new friend. Within two weeks of meeting her, her husband became gravely ill. For the past two months, she’s been shuttling him from doctor to doctor, trying to solve a terrifying mystery. He can’t breathe properly, but it’s not his heart. It’s not his lungs. No one knows why.

And while the crisis drags on, life doesn’t pause.

Work still needs to be done. Food still needs to be bought. Bills still need to be paid. The mundane mechanics of life keep grinding forward, even when everything feels fragile.

When my husband called me from the accident scene, I went into what I call “what’s next mode.”

What needs to be done right now?
What information needs to be gathered?
Who needs to be called?
What needs to happen tomorrow?

Doctor visits. Insurance claims. Lawyers. Logistics.

I didn’t panic. I didn’t freeze. I did what needed to be done. I took care of my husband. Then I cooked dinner. I folded laundry.

And then I started shaking.

Because once the immediate needs were met, reality caught up with me.

He could have died today.
The other man could have died today.

We aren’t guaranteed anything.

How Humanism Helps Me Cope

As a Humanist, I find that confronting this reality—honestly and without softening it—actually helps me cope.

We aren’t special.
Bad things happen.
They happen to everyone, eventually.

I waste zero time on “Why me?”
I already know the answer.

Because this is what being human means.

Sometimes we get lucky. Sometimes we don’t. That’s not punishment or destiny—it’s reality. And because that’s my starting point, I can accept what’s happening faster than if I believed there was a larger meaning to decode or a cosmic explanation I was owed.

I think this is one of the quiet strengths of Humanism.

Because we don’t believe we are protected or chosen, we accept reality sooner. And acceptance frees up energy—not for denial or bargaining, but for action.

Action Doesn’t Mean Emotional Absence

This doesn’t mean Humanists don’t feel deeply. We do.

I’m feeling it now—in the shaking, in the delayed adrenaline, in the sudden awareness of how close today came to going very differently.

But Humanism biases us toward reality-based action.

What can I do right now to make this situation a little bit better?

That question matters. It’s grounding. It gives us traction when everything feels unstable.

Action doesn’t erase grief or fear—but it keeps us moving through it instead of being consumed by it.

It’s Okay to Be Human

Crisis exposes something important: there is no “right” way to respond.

Sometimes the most human response is efficiency.
Sometimes it’s numbness.
Sometimes it’s tears that come hours—or days—later.

All of that is normal.

Humanism doesn’t ask us to transcend our humanity. It asks us to work with it.

To face reality as it is.
To care for one another because no one else is coming to save us.
To make things a little better where we can.

Humanistic Leadership in Crisis Situations

This same approach applies in workplace crises. Layoffs, public failures, harassment investigations, sudden leadership changes—these moments trigger fear and uncertainty just as powerfully as personal emergencies. Good leaders don’t dismiss emotions, but they don’t drown in them either. They make space for people to be human and help teams focus on what can be done next. What problems are solvable right now? What support is needed? What clarity can be provided? Reality-based leadership in crisis isn’t cold—it’s compassionate, stabilizing, and deeply human.

The Only Guarantee We Have

Every day we have with the people we love is a gift.

Not because it’s divinely granted.
Not because it’s deserved.
But because it’s temporary.

Knowing that doesn’t make life bleak for me—it makes it precious.

Today reminded me how thin the line is between “ordinary” and “everything changed.” And tomorrow, like today, will still require groceries, emails, and laundry.

But it will also require something else:

Presence. Gratitude. And the courage to keep acting in a world that offers no guarantees.

That, to me, is the Humanist response to crisis.

Learn More:

If you want to learn more - My first book and course can help. I explore how to live humanistically, even when things are difficult or horrifying.

Book: The Humanist Approach to Happiness - https://humanistlearning.com/the-humanist-approach-to-happiness-book/

Course: Living Made Simpler - https://humanistlearning.com/livingmadesimpler1/

I don't sugar coat things. Life is often hard. But that doesn't mean it's not also awesome. There is a duality to life's experiences. Or rather a triality. Sometimes it's great. Sometimes it's horrible and sometimes it is just ok. If you let me, I can teach you how to cope in a way that will help you - make life, the good and the bad and the meh - simpler.

Diversity, Critical Thinking, and the Question: What Don’t You Know?

Asking better questions builds better teams. Diversity helps us see what we don’t know and avoid costly blind spots before they happen.

I wanted to share this hilarious case study with you. I was recently offered a Gonift certificate through ParkMobile. So naturally, I did what any reasonably curious person does: I went online to find out what Gonift actually is.

And what I found made me laugh out loud. Like, hysterically. Because there are really only two possibilities here—and neither one is great. Before I explain why, here’s what Google helpfully summarizes (and I’m keeping this quote intact for a reason):

"Gonift" can refer to two very different things: a Hebrew/Yiddish term for a thief or swindler, or it can refer to GoNift (Nift), a digital platform that offers personalized gift certificates for products and experiences like food, beauty, and fitness, often through partnerships with other apps. The context usually makes it clear which meaning is intended.

1. Goniff (Hebrew/Yiddish)
Meaning: A thief, swindler, cheat, or generally dishonest person.
Pronunciation: GAH-niv.

2. GoNift (Nift)
What it is: A service that provides personalized gift cards for various merchants (restaurants, apparel, spas, etc.).
How it works: You receive a code (via email, app, etc.), enter it at GoNift.com, specify your interests, and get matched with a certificate for a local business.
Purpose: To help users discover new local businesses and services.

Now, back to those two possibilities.

Possibility #1: They Knew Exactly What the Word Meant

If the founders or decision-makers knew that “goniff” means thief or swindler in Hebrew/Yiddish and went with it anyway… then I’m not particularly interested in trusting them with my data, my time, or my money.

Even if the business itself is legitimate, that choice signals something important: a comfort with irony that relies on other people not knowing what the word means. That’s not clever branding - it’s a trust problem.

Possibility #2: They Had No One on the Team Who Could Tell Them

This is the more likely, and more instructive, scenario.

It means:

No one involved recognized the word AND they didn't bother to google it.
No one thought to ask, “Does this name mean something in another language?”
Or worse: someone did know and wasn’t listened to

And that is where diversity and critical thinking intersect.

Diversity Isn’t About Checking Boxes. It’s About Catching Blind Spots

This isn’t a story about hurt feelings or cultural sensitivity for its own sake. It’s a story about unknown unknowns.

Critical thinking isn’t just analyzing what’s in front of you. It’s asking:

What might we be missing?
Who would see something here that I wouldn’t?
Who should I ask before we finalize this decision?

If you don’t have people around you with different cultural backgrounds, languages, life experiences, or perspectives, you are far more likely to make avoidable mistakes—and not even realize it.

A five-minute conversation with one Yiddish-speaking or Jewish team member (or consultant, or friend) could have stopped this dead in its tracks.