The Boy Who Hit the Roof

Looking back, I sometimes smile at the image: a young boy hitting the roof of a modest family house, striking the iron sheets with a stick and shouting, "I want to go to school! I want to go to school!"

To those who witnessed it, it may have looked like nothing more than childish frustration. Perhaps it was. But as the years have passed, I have come to see that moment differently. It was not simply a boy making noise. It was the beginning of a lifelong lesson.

Fear was already present — fear that my education might end before it had truly begun, that poverty would quietly dictate the rest of my future, that my dreams would disappear before they had the chance to grow.

Yet something else was present too: purpose.

Even though I was too young to articulate it, I already understood that education represented more than classrooms and examinations. It represented possibility, dignity, and a future different from the one my circumstances seemed to predict.

Looking back, I realize I climbed onto that roof because purpose had become stronger than fear. That lesson has followed me throughout my life.

Fear Is Not the Enemy

Fear has an unfortunate reputation. We often speak about it as something to eliminate before we can move forward, and we admire courageous people because we imagine they experience less fear than the rest of us. I no longer believe that.

The more people I have met, the more convinced I have become that fear is one of the few experiences common to every human being.

• Students fear failure.
• Graduates fear unemployment.
• Parents fear not providing adequately for their families.
• Professionals fear making costly mistakes.
• Leaders fear disappointing those who trust them.
• Entrepreneurs fear uncertainty.
• Authors fear rejection.
• Public speakers fear judgment.

The presence of fear does not distinguish us. What distinguishes us is how we respond to it.

Susan Jeffers captured this beautifully in her influential work Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. She argues that confidence is rarely something we possess before taking action — more often, confidence grows because we take action despite uncertainty.

That observation resonates deeply with my own experience. Looking back, I cannot identify many occasions when I felt completely fearless before making an important decision. I simply discovered that waiting for fear to disappear meant waiting indefinitely — life had to be lived before certainty arrived.

The Comfort Zone's Quiet Promise

Fear has a close companion: comfort.

Comfort rarely appears dangerous. In fact, it often disguises itself as wisdom. It whispers that we should wait until conditions become more favorable, until we feel more prepared, until someone guarantees success, until the risks grow smaller.

At first glance, these suggestions seem sensible. Yet comfort has a hidden cost: it gradually persuades us that safety matters more than purpose.

The comfort zone is attractive because it asks so little of us. It lets us repeat familiar routines, avoid difficult conversations, decline meaningful opportunities, postpone important decisions, and remain where outcomes feel predictable.

There is nothing inherently wrong with comfort. Rest is necessary. Security has value. The problem begins when comfort quietly becomes our destination rather than our resting place.

Many of life's greatest opportunities exist just beyond the boundaries of what feels comfortable. Unfortunately, that is precisely where fear waits.

The question, then, becomes: will fear persuade us to retreat, or will purpose persuade us to continue?

The Courage to Leave Home

One of the most significant decisions I ever made was leaving the familiarity of home in search of opportunity. Like many young graduates, I arrived in Nairobi carrying more hope than certainty. The city promised possibilities. It also demanded courage.

Finding employment proved far more difficult than I had anticipated. For nine months, I walked the streets carrying job applications from one office to another, hoping someone would offer me an opportunity. Many days ended exactly as they had begun — with unanswered applications, tired feet, and uncertain prospects.

Fear accompanied me almost every day. There were moments when I questioned whether I had made the right decision, moments when returning home seemed easier than continuing, moments when discouragement quietly suggested that perhaps I was expecting too much from life.

Looking back now, I realize something important: courage did not remove uncertainty. It simply prevented uncertainty from making my decisions.

Every job application submitted was an act of hope. Every interview attended was an act of courage. Every new morning was another decision to keep moving despite not knowing how the story would end.

Angela Duckworth's research on grit describes perseverance as sustained commitment to a meaningful goal despite setbacks and slow progress (Duckworth, 2016). That definition reflects my own experience remarkably well. Perseverance was not glamorous — it was simply the daily decision not to surrender.

Purpose Changes the Conversation

One of the greatest discoveries of my life has been this: fear always asks, "What if I fail?" Purpose asks, "What if I never try?"

Those are very different questions. Fear focuses on possible loss; purpose focuses on possible contribution. Fear imagines embarrassment; purpose imagines impact. Fear measures today's discomfort; purpose measures tomorrow's significance.

The more clearly we understand our purpose, the less authority fear possesses over our decisions. This does not mean fear disappears — it simply loses its position as the primary voice directing our lives.

Looking back across my own journey, I now recognize that every meaningful decision involved some measure of uncertainty: accepting new responsibilities, leading unfamiliar projects, writing major funding proposals, publishing my biography, launching the SOLVIS Mentorship Program, speaking before hundreds of students.

Each step carried the possibility of failure. Each also carried the possibility of making a meaningful difference. Purpose consistently reminded me that the greater risk was not failure — it was allowing fear to silence opportunities that had been entrusted to me.

Courage Begins With Vulnerability

Many people think courage is loud. They imagine dramatic speeches, heroic acts, or extraordinary displays of confidence. Real courage is often much quieter — sometimes it is the courage to admit that we are uncertain, to acknowledge that we do not have all the answers, to begin before we feel fully prepared.

Brené Brown, whose research has transformed our understanding of courage and leadership, argues that vulnerability is not a weakness but the birthplace of courage, creativity, and meaningful connection (Brown, 2012). We cannot live courageously while constantly protecting ourselves from uncertainty, criticism, or disappointment.

That insight has challenged me deeply. Looking back over my life, I realize that many of the opportunities that shaped my future required me to step into situations where success was never guaranteed.

• Submitting a proposal did not guarantee funding.
• Accepting leadership responsibilities did not guarantee success.
• Publishing a book did not guarantee readers.
• Standing before hundreds of students did not guarantee that my message would resonate.

Each decision involved vulnerability. Each required me to accept the possibility of failure. Yet I have come to understand that vulnerability is not the opposite of courage — it is often the doorway through which courage enters our lives.

Growth Begins Beyond the Familiar

One of the remarkable characteristics of fear is that it exaggerates the risks of moving forward while minimizing the risks of remaining where we are. It persuades us that familiar discomfort is safer than unfamiliar possibility. Yet history — and our own lives — tell a different story.

Every meaningful stage of growth requires leaving something familiar behind.

• A student leaves the certainty of school for the unknown demands of higher education.
• A graduate leaves the comfort of campus for the uncertainty of the workplace.
• A professional accepts greater responsibility without knowing every challenge that lies ahead.
• An entrepreneur invests in an idea that may or may not succeed.
• A parent raises children without a complete guidebook.

Growth asks every one of us to become beginners again.

Carol Dweck's work on the growth mindset helps explain why some people embrace these moments while others avoid them. Those who believe they can continue learning are more willing to face difficult challenges, because they see mistakes as opportunities to improve rather than evidence of inadequacy (Dweck, 2006).

Looking back, I realize I rarely moved forward because I felt fully prepared. I moved forward because remaining where I was no longer aligned with the future I believed was possible. Purpose consistently invited me beyond familiarity; fear consistently invited me back. Every meaningful chapter of my life began with deciding which voice I would follow.

Running Towards Fear

The title of this essay may sound unusual. Why would anyone deliberately run towards fear? The answer is simple: because fear often stands between us and the life we are meant to live.

This does not mean we should seek danger recklessly or ignore wise counsel—courage is never the abandonment of wisdom. Rather, it means refusing to let fear become the permanent architect of our decisions.

Throughout my journey, I have discovered that fear usually guards the entrance to meaningful growth:

• The difficult conversation we have been avoiding
• The opportunity we feel unqualified to pursue
• The responsibility we hesitate to accept
• The dream we are afraid to announce
• The vision we keep postponing because failure seems too costly

More often than not, these are the very places where growth is waiting.

I have learned that fear diminishes when confronted and grows when avoided. Every time we move towards a meaningful challenge, we teach ourselves something important: we are capable of more than fear suggested.

Practical Courage for Everyday Life

Not every reader will climb onto a roof in protest, relocate to a new city, lead large projects, or speak before hundreds of people. Yet every one of us will face moments that require courage.

For some, courage will mean applying for a position they feel unqualified for. For others, it will mean returning to school after many years. For someone else, it may involve ending an unhealthy relationship, seeking forgiveness, starting a business, changing careers, or simply asking for help.

Purposeful living is rarely built through spectacular acts of bravery. It is built through ordinary acts of courage repeated consistently over time.

Courage grows through practice. The more faithfully we respond to today's opportunities, the more prepared we become for tomorrow's responsibilities.

Fear may never disappear completely. But neither will purpose. The question is not whether fear will accompany us — it almost certainly will. The question is which voice we will choose to obey.

Conclusion

As I reflect on the journey from that young boy hitting the roof to the opportunities I have been privileged to experience, I no longer see courage as something reserved for extraordinary people. I see it as a decision available to ordinary people every day.

It is the student who chooses to continue despite discouragement. The graduate refusing to give up after another unsuccessful interview. The leader making a difficult decision because it is right rather than popular. The parent sacrificing personal comfort to create better opportunities for the next generation. The mentor investing patiently in people whose potential is not yet visible.

Purposeful lives are not built because fear disappears. They are built because purpose gradually becomes more compelling than fear.

Looking back, I have come to appreciate that fear has accompanied almost every meaningful chapter of my life — when I pursued education, searched for employment, accepted leadership responsibilities, wrote my biography, and launched the SOLVIS Mentorship Program. Fear was present. It simply did not have the final word.

Today, when I encounter uncertainty, I no longer ask whether I am afraid. I ask a different question:

Is this fear protecting me from genuine danger, or preventing me from becoming the person I am called to be?

The answer to that question has shaped many of the most important decisions of my life. Looking back, I realize that every meaningful chapter of my life began on the other side of a fear I was willing to face.

The SOLVIS Reflection

At Solve With Vision (SOLVIS), we believe that courage is not measured by the absence of fear but by the willingness to act faithfully despite it. Fear is a natural part of every meaningful journey, yet it need not become the author of our future. Purpose gives us the strength to move beyond comfort, embrace growth, and pursue opportunities that once seemed beyond our reach. Every challenge we face invites us to choose between retreat and progress. When we choose purpose over comfort, we discover that courage is not a single heroic act — it is a daily commitment to becoming the person we were created to be.

References

• Brown, B. (2012). Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. Gotham Books.
• Duckworth, A. (2016). Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance. Scribner.
• Dweck, C. S. (2006). Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. Random House.
• Jeffers, S. (2007). Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway (Revised ed.). Ballantine Books.
• Omondi, R. (2026). The Shoeless Visionary: A Biography of Kenneth Otieno. Nairobi, Kenya.