You Just Have To Roll Your Sleeves Up
Read more poetry by Britt Wolfe
The work is already there.
Waiting does not improve it.
Thinking does not reduce it.
Wanting does not move it
even an inch closer to done.
There comes a moment—
quiet, unceremonious—
when you understand
that effort is no longer optional.
Not heroic effort.
Not inspired effort.
Plain, bodily labour.
You roll your sleeves up
because nothing else remains honest.
Because clarity does not precede action—
it emerges from it,
callused and reliable.
This is where grit lives.
Not in bravado.
Not in suffering made loud.
But in repetition.
In the willingness to place your hands
on the same difficulty
again and again
without needing it to feel meaningful first.
You work while uncertain.
You work while tired.
You work while the outcome
refuses to promise you anything.
And still—
you show up.
Effort is not elegant.
It sweats.
It misjudges.
It learns by friction.
Resistance tries to sound reasonable—
suggests delay,
offers comfort,
whispers that readiness
will arrive if you wait long enough.
But readiness is a myth
told by people
who mistake stillness for safety.
Capability is built
only by entering the strain
and remaining there
until your hands know what to do
without asking your permission.
Rolling your sleeves up
is an agreement
with reality.
This will be heavy.
This will take longer than you want.
This will not reward you immediately.
But it will make you solid.
Effort is where self-respect accumulates.
Not in outcomes.
Not in recognition.
In the private decision
to do the work anyway—
to refuse the seduction of avoidance,
to meet the task
without drama or resentment.
The world is shaped
by people who do not wait
to feel confident.
They become confident
by lifting what needs lifting.
You do not need certainty.
You do not need permission.
You need only this:
the willingness to engage,
to accept the weight,
to be changed
by the doing.
Sometimes that is the whole instruction.
Roll your sleeves up.
Begin.
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Poetry Anthologies by Britt Wolfe:
