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Boris Cho Nov 10
In my journey as a marketer and strategist, working within the dynamic world of media and advertising, I’ve come to realize that success is not born from flashes of creative brilliance alone. It is something deeper, a persistent force; grit, that has driven my professional development and growth. It has become clear to me that in an industry where innovation, creativity, and strategy is highly valued, it’s not simply enough to have vision. Sustaining that vision requires dedication, discipline, and the ability to weather setbacks with unwavering resolve.

Early in my career, I believed that raw talent or the next big idea would be the key to success. But with time, I came to see that ideas, much like passion, are fleeting unless coupled with a dogged commitment to execution. Campaigns aren’t made great by the initial spark of inspiration; they succeed through relentless iteration, feedback, and optimization. It’s not the glamour of pitching an idea that creates long-term impact; it’s the persistence in refining it, over and over, even when the outcome isn’t immediately clear.

I’ve learned that in media and advertising, failure is inevitable. Campaigns don’t always hit the mark, trends shift, and audiences are ever-evolving. But rather than being discouraged by setbacks, I’ve grown to view them as critical moments in my professional development. Each challenge, whether it’s a missed opportunity or a campaign that falls short, has become a lesson in resilience. With each, I’ve honed my ability to pivot, to absorb feedback, and to adapt; skills that are as essential as creativity in this fast-paced industry.

In the same way that grit shapes personal success, it’s the cornerstone of professional growth in media. Success is less about having one breakthrough moment and more about showing up every day with determination, ready to push forward despite the obstacles. I’ve seen how those who persist, who learn from failure, and who continuously strive for improvement in their craft are the ones who ultimately thrive.

As I reflect on my career, I understand now that it wasn’t my initial creative spark that defined my trajectory, but my willingness to grind through the mundane aspects of the process, to work toward long-term goals even when progress was slow. It’s this fusion of passion and perseverance that has allowed me to turn ideas into impactful campaigns, and to evolve in an ever-changing industry.



It’s not the spark that lights the flame,
But steady hands, day after day.
A mind that bends but will not break,
Through every challenge, for progress’ sake.

It’s not in speed, nor strength, nor flight,
But rising up, time after time.
For grit is forged in quiet strain,
A constant push against the grain.

When all seems lost, and dreams grow dim,
Grit finds the strength to try again.

— Sincerely, Boris
showyoulove Nov 1
You are a Precious Pearl
A pear begins with a bit of Grit
Forged with the refining fires
Of passion persistence and pressure
It is a gift, a treasure beyond measure
The more costly for its journey
Through the crucible of life
showyoulove Nov 1
When persistence and passion unite
When done in the presence of God's Light
You will bring to the table what some call Grit
With confidence you can say to life: "Bring It"
You have just become an Overcomer
Moving in the grace of God's own drummer
Ryan R Latini Aug 18
I met him at a dust-bowl bus station
In Mobile, where buses wore dust trail capes.
Roaches clicked in the water fountain basin.

With charisma he denounced
The muddled spray of birth and spring,
The spermy apocalypse brought forth by an
Army of mad babies with syphilis-splintered brains.

He had gambled for three nights,
Wonder and reason backing his chips —
Small blind, big blind.
He had the shoulders of a man who locks the door
And hides the key — an invisible traveling carnival
Trailed his gait on a pace-worn floor.

Bed bugs had made Braille of his arm.
He was going off to a camp south of Cabbage Town
Where he would sweat beneath the sun,
Surrender beneath the stars,
And dream of the ten women he’d made.

He told me he hated knowing he was in control,
And that it was the saddest part of the darkest hour.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 29
grit on my face…****!

<>

city boy,  progeny of the multi-cultures
any new yorker breathes, the grit fills in
the mini pores, but even better, the lines and
the deep furrowed creases of squinting worries,
inherent and inherited
from years of peering into
the future whose outcomes always fell
outside the range of ordinary misperceptions
and into the realms of extraordinarily ordinary…

even the grit and the grip of grief, cause and
consequence of my endless errored foreseeing,
equally crinkly when smiling and/or grimacing,
for I read what I have written smilingly, and grimace with
the unknown knowledge yet within, there is more to come,
but from who knows where or when, and the grit hardened
exterior groans with the thrill of pulling and
purging yet more words from the
Sea of Churn,
whose burning sensations brings cherried sundae
of mixed anxious trepidations and a groan of relief
when the work of words is done and done & delivered,

and yet:

(that fearsome worded curse)

sadly seeds the junkies need for the next fix…


and my lips issue a pleasured ****!

7:59am
Sabbath Sat.
29 June 2024
Gut dropping falls
Dizzying ascent
It scares me
But I get back on

Forgive and forget
Care first for yourself
Pursue pleasure
Avoid pain.

Asynchronous
Dichotomies
Cannot achieve
Mutual satisfaction

Pain is inevitable
The price of living
paid in discomfort
And Uncertainty

A life of comfort
Is quiet and easy
An extraordinary life
Challenges the soul
Even though my head knows that the drop is coming, it doesn’t cease to be exciting. If the extraordinary was routine, what would be the point of pursuing it?
Alice Nov 2022
Win
Time is passing by
But I refuse to change;
My sails are too tattered now
To withstand Poseidon’s rage;
Part of me wants to let go
And just go with the flow;
But part of me wants to stay put
And just win this game.
Talent was not worth it,
Until it turned into skill
Rise against the odds
To go in for the ****
Thought it was supposed to be silky smooth,
Thorns in a bed of roses lay still
Hate it for the un-nerving truth
Victory accompanied by a sunken face
And a broken tooth,
What once was
A mountain to climb,
Now within my reach
The peak of ascent
Toiling along the way
A threshold to breach,
A view so spectacular
I could live there forever
Alas, the only thing worse,
Than an incoming frown
Is the dream I was having
Of getting to the top
Without ever putting a foot down,
A ghost of perdition
A drunken semaphore of
Nihilistic fortitude
Scarring enough to even put
Any effort in the journey,
Thinking all I had was
What I ever needed.
The blues seems to suit my heavy heart,
May give me the fuel to finally kickstart.

...

Maybe I'll come back to this at a better time.
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