Beauty in the Broken Places
We aren't meant to be pristine. We are meant to endure, adapt, and overcome.
The Venus de Milo was chosen as the lead image because it embodies the core message of this article: that value is not found in perfection, but in persistence. She is missing both arms, yet remains one of the most celebrated sculptures in human history. Her damage does not diminish her beauty. It proves it.
Introduction
Most people go out of their way to avoid taking damage. They avoid discomfort, failure, and anything that might leave a mark, as if staying clean is the goal. Somewhere along the line, they were convinced that looking untouched meant they were doing something right. But the truth is, it usually means they haven’t done much at all.
The ones worth listening to are never spotless. They’ve been through it. Some of it left scars. Some of it changed how they think. None of it was easy. But that’s where the value is. Not in the polish, but in the places that got roughed up and kept going anyway.
This isn’t about chasing hardship or pretending pain is noble. It’s about understanding that experience has a cost, and that the bill usually comes due in skin, sleep, and the quiet burden of lessons learned the hard way. People who have done meaningful things don’t come away from them unscathed. They come away with stories, caution, and the kind of wisdom you can’t get from a book. They also carry trauma. Some of it healed clean. Some of it didn’t. But every piece of it shapes who they are now.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out the best way to explain this. Not just the concept of being tested, but what it actually means to come through those tests with something to show for it. That was the starting point for what became Earned Edges. It’s not a slogan, and it’s definitely not just about physical grit. It’s about what we go through, what it costs us, and what we become because of it.
The idea started with injuries. I could look at the damage, things I broke, strained, or lost over the years, and remember exactly how it happened and what I learned from it. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized that the deeper marks weren’t on the surface at all. They were the times I failed someone I cared about. The moments I doubted myself when I shouldn’t have. The times I walked through something brutal and came out quieter, but more solid.
Those marks, physical or otherwise, aren’t signs that something went wrong. They’re reminders. That you didn’t back down when it mattered. That you were tested, and you held the line, even if you were afraid or outmatched. They’re proof that you’ve lived with intention, not just motion.
That’s what Earned Edges means to me. It’s a way of seeing the world that puts value where it belongs, not in how untouched you are, but in how deeply you’ve lived.
Lessons from the Nosebleeds to the Playing Field
I think some of this started with my father.
He worked in one of the most competitive environments imaginable, the kind where there are only a handful of positions in the entire country, and every one of them is under a microscope. There was no real safety net, no long runway to fail and recover. You either performed or you were replaced. And even when you did everything right, new leadership could come in and level the entire operation overnight. That was the reality. You didn’t earn comfort. You earned the right to keep your job a little longer.
He started at the very bottom, just trying to find a way in. Over time, through nothing but determination, discipline, and consistency, he climbed. It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t glamorous. It was the kind of climb that leaves marks, on your body, on your personal life, and on the way you see the world. But he never stopped. He kept showing up. And eventually, he worked his way to the top of a field where very few ever even get a foot in the door.
What stuck with me most weren’t the titles or the perks, but the stories he told, quiet, matter-of-fact accounts of moments that would’ve broken most people. Times when people turned on him. Projects that failed. Entire organizations that fell apart. But no matter what, he kept moving forward with a kind of relentless structure and calm. Not robotic, just solid. Intentional. The kind of guy who didn't say "I'm trying my best," because he already was.
I remember going to work with him sometimes, seeing how he carried himself in rooms full of people who were all trying to survive in an environment designed to replace you the moment you slowed down. And he never did. He never stopped giving a damn. Whether it was running meetings or handling the small details no one else noticed, he approached every task with pride. Not the showy kind. The kind that says, “If my name’s on it, it’s going to be done right.”
That left an impression on me. Probably more than I realized at the time.
He didn’t talk about resilience or grit. He just lived it. He earned every inch of progress by showing up, getting back up, and holding his standards no matter what was happening around him. That, to me, is where Earned Edges begins. With the people who never quit, even when no one’s watching. Especially then.
Why the Edges Matter
It’s easy to believe that the goal is comfort. That if you’re doing things right, life should be smooth, and success should come without friction. But that belief robs people of what actually builds strength, resilience, and clarity. The truth is, most of what makes a person capable, truly capable, comes from the exact moments they would’ve rather avoided.
The job loss. The heartbreak. The failure. The surgery. The injury. The thing you thought might break you but didn’t. Those are the moments that carve the edges. Not because pain is something to worship, but because what you learn when everything hurts tends to stay with you longer than what you read in a book or heard in a podcast.
Edges don’t just come from physical hardship. They come from having to navigate things that don’t have a clear answer. They come from making decisions under pressure, from pushing forward when it would have been easier to disappear, and from doing things well even when no one is looking. The people who are worth having around in a crisis didn’t learn how to be that way in a seminar. They learned because they had to. And they came out with the kind of calm that only shows up when you’ve been there before.
You don’t have to go looking for pain, but you do have to stop running from anything that might test you. If you avoid every difficult conversation, every physical challenge, every uncomfortable truth, you may stay clean, but you’ll never get sharp.
The goal isn’t to become reckless or broken. The goal is to become shaped. Refined. Tough enough to face what’s coming, and soft enough to remember why it matters. That balance isn’t given. It’s earned. And it only shows up in people who’ve done the work.
My Condition
If you looked at my life from the outside, you might think I figured something out. Maybe you’d assume I had a plan that worked. But the truth is, I’ve failed more times than I can count. Not little stumbles, full-blown collapses. Some of them were my fault. Some of them weren’t. Either way, I’ve had to rebuild more than once.
I’ve tried a lot of things. Started businesses. Taken risks. Lost money. Made it back. Lost it again. Trusted people I shouldn’t have. Carried responsibilities I wasn’t ready for. Walked into things with confidence and walked away humbled. There are times I’ve felt like I’ve lived five different lives in one body. And none of them were easy.
But I wouldn’t trade a second of it.
Not for comfort. Not for convenience. Not even for peace. Because every one of those losses taught me something I couldn’t have learned any other way. Every time I hit the floor, I came back a little sharper. A little quieter. A little less naive. Those moments, as ugly and exhausting as they were, did something that nothing else could. They shaped my edges.
Physically, I’ve got more injuries than I care to list. Some came from training. Some from accidents. Some just from doing what had to be done. And mentally, I’ve had to work through trauma that never fully leaves. It stays with you. Not like a scar, but like a change in how you see the world. There are things I’ve felt that I don’t ever want to feel again. And there are things I’ve survived that make it nearly impossible for someone to lie to me, manipulate me, or sell me on a version of the world that isn’t real.
That’s the trade. You go through enough, and eventually, you stop needing to guess what’s true. You just know.
And that’s the foundation. Before you can talk about earning your edges, you have to understand what they really are. They aren’t badges or stories to impress people. They’re the armor you built one failure at a time. They’re the reason you can spot danger when others are still debating it. They’re why you don’t panic when the room goes quiet or the plan falls apart.
You can’t fake that. You have to live it.
How to Earn Your Edges
If there’s a cheat code, it’s this: experience is earned, not learned.
You can’t watch enough podcasts or listen to enough motivational speakers to bypass the actual work. You can’t download someone else’s pain, shortcut their failures, or absorb their lessons by osmosis. It doesn’t matter how many times you hear a story about what not to do. You’ll probably do it anyway. And that’s exactly how it should be.
This has always been the price. Long before anyone had a job title or a resume, we made sharp things by breaking them. You took a stone, struck it hard, and chipped away everything dull until the edge could be used. The more useful the blade, the more broken it had to become first. That lesson is old, and still true.
There’s no shortage of people trying to sell you the idea that their scars can keep you from getting your own. Guys like Ed Mylett, David Goggins, or whoever is making the rounds this month will tell you that if you just follow their blueprint, you can skip the hard parts. But that’s not how it works. You don’t become capable by copying someone else’s path. You become capable by surviving your own.
Experience costs what it costs. The only choice you get is whether you pay that price willingly or get dragged through it.
So if you want to earn your edges and really earn them. Start here:
Do hard things before you’re ready.
If you wait until the timing is perfect, you’ll never move. Most of the people you admire didn’t feel prepared when they started. They just went anyway. Starting before you're ready doesn't mean being reckless, it means accepting that readiness is often a myth people use to justify standing still.Take responsibility for something that matters.
Not because someone told you to. Because you chose to. Find something that would fall apart if you let it, and carry it well. It could be your health. A business. A kid. A family member. A community. Responsibility forces you to grow up faster than comfort ever will.Stop outsourcing your problems.
Don’t wait for someone to save you. Don’t blame the world. When something goes wrong, ask what part you played in it, even if your only mistake was trusting the wrong person or failing to prepare. That kind of thinking builds clarity, and clarity builds capability.Seek friction, not chaos.
You don’t need to blow up your life to grow. You just need resistance. Train. Build a new skill. Put yourself in rooms where you’re the least experienced person there. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Try something that might not work. That’s where the edges get carved.Reflect often. Lie never.
You can go through hard things and still come out empty if you refuse to be honest. Every mistake is wasted if you don’t sit with it long enough to understand what it cost you, and why you’ll never do it again. Pain is a powerful teacher, but only if you’re willing to listen.
You don’t earn your edges by accident. You earn them by choosing the harder path when the easy one would’ve been enough. By showing up when it would have been easier to stay quiet. By holding the line when no one is watching.
The Unspoken Currency
The reality is, no one is coming to hand you resilience. No one can wrap experience in a box and drop it at your feet. You have to live it. You have to endure it. And you have to let it change you without hardening you into something bitter or broken.
The world doesn’t reward potential. It rewards persistence. It rewards the ones who keep showing up after it would’ve made sense to quit. The ones who are tired, beat up, maybe even afraid, but still get back in the fight because they know who they are and what they’re trying to build.
That’s what the edges represent. Not damage. Not decoration. But proof. That you’ve been there. That you’ve earned your clarity, your confidence, and your competence through effort no one else saw and lessons no one else could have lived for you.
There are a thousand people right now offering you shortcuts, promising that their advice will keep you from falling into the same traps they did. But advice doesn’t replace impact. Guidance is useful, but growth still costs what it costs. It always will.
Which brings me back to one of the best things I’ve ever read. A reminder I go back to every time things start to feel heavy:
"Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not. Nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not. Unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not. The world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent."
—Calvin Coolidge
When the dust settles, it won’t be your credentials, your opinions, or your potential that matter. It will be your persistence. It will be your ability to stay in the fight, adapt, and hold your ground when it would have been easier to fold.
And if you’re marked from it, if your body aches when it rains, if your thoughts sometimes drift into places that feel a little darker, if your past still echoes from time to time, that doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It means you’ve carried something real.
So the next time your knee hurts while you’re walking, or something small triggers a memory you thought you had put away, don’t hide from it. Don’t apologize for it. Be proud of it. Those are reminders that you’ve lived with intention, that you’ve endured things that forged you into someone better. Not softer. Not harder. Just real.
That’s what earns the edge. That’s what builds someone who can be trusted when everything else is falling apart.
And if you’re a little scraped, a little worn, a little scarred from the weight of all you’ve carried—that’s not a sign you’ve done something wrong.
It’s a sign you’re doing it right.
-Gino