Growth Mindset and the Power of Grit
I want to kick off my personal blog posts with this topic, as it was the single most eye-opening insight I had last year.
I was never the smartest kid in the room. Growing up through middle school, I considered myself squarely in the middle of my class — not stupid, but certainly not exceptionally smart.
I grew up in South Korea, where schools brutally rank students in every class based on their cumulative test scores. Because of this, I always knew exactly where I stood and was well aware that I wasn’t as naturally brilliant as some of my peers.
For reasons I couldn’t grasp back then, I was terrible at math in elementary school. I used to wonder if it was because I am left-handed; left-handed people often rely more on the right hemisphere of the brain, which is linked to creativity and spatial reasoning, while the left hemisphere—responsible for logic and critical thinking—remains relatively underdeveloped.
I remember bursting into tears whenever I couldn’t wrap my head around a difficult math problem, even when the solution was laid out right in front of me while my peers solved it effortlessly.
Back in elementary school, I wanted to be an artist. I loved art, and I hated math and science. Yet, that wasn’t where my journey ended.
But even then, I wanted to become someone who was smart, logical, and good at math—someone I did not yet believe I could be. Then by high school, I was actually considered good at math and science, which ultimately led me to major in Chemical Engineering.
How did that shift happen?
Looking back, I do not think it was because I suddenly became more naturally talented. I think I changed because I kept going long enough to improve.
As I grew older, I forgot about all of this: my early preference for the arts, my dislike of math, and the deep sense of inferiority I carried as a child.
Then, last year, that feeling came back.
Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance
Last year, feeling out of my depth at work made me question whether I was qualified or naturally talented enough to excel in my role. Sure, I was working at one of the world’s most competitive companies, so the people around me were bound to be exceptionally smart—but my self-doubt went deeper than just comparison.
I had heard of terms like “fixed mindset” and “growth mindset” before. I knew people said a fixed mindset holds you back, but my reaction was always, “So what? What if I’ve already hit my ceiling, and my ceiling just happens to be low?”
Feeling lost and inadequate, I turned to reading and stumbled upon Angela Duckworth’s book, Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance.
The core thesis of the book is that long-term success and high achievement depend far more on grit—a combination of passion and persistence—than on innate talent or high IQ. Duckworth models this through two straightforward equations:
- Talent dictates how quickly your skills improve when you apply effort.
- Skill only yields achievement when sustained effort is applied over time.
I used to look at people I met in college and at work and assume they had something fundamentally different from me. They seemed to understand difficult ideas more quickly, communicate more clearly, and approach complex problems with ease.
I used to think that they simply had a different “wiring” in their brains—and in a physical sense, they probably did.
Maybe some of them did have advantages—more experience, stronger foundations, or a natural affinity for certain kinds of work. But I had been treating those differences as proof that improvement was impossible for me.
I had mistaken my current ability for my permanent ability.
Reading Grit shifted my perspective. Backed by the evidence Duckworth presented, I became convinced that with the right mindset and sustained effort, I can continuously improve.
Growth Mindset
A growth mindset does not mean pretending that everyone starts from the same place. It does not mean that effort guarantees any outcome, regardless of circumstances.
Instead, it means believing that ability is not fixed.
You can become better at writing, reasoning, communicating, designing systems, solving problems, or learning a technical domain. The process may be slow, uncomfortable, and sometimes discouraging—but struggling with something today does not mean you will struggle with it forever.
This perspective changed the way I approached work.
When I had trouble explaining a complex technical problem, I stopped treating that difficulty as evidence that I was not capable. Instead, I began to see it as a signal that I needed more practice.
When writing felt unclear, I revised.
When a codebase felt overwhelming, I broke the problem into smaller pieces.
When I did not understand something, I tried to stay with the discomfort a little longer instead of immediately concluding that I was not smart enough.
The goal was no longer to prove that I was naturally talented. The goal was to improve from where I was.
What I Believe Now
The lesson I took from my childhood and from Grit is not that talent does not matter.
It does.
But talent is only one input. Consistent effort, patience, and the willingness to keep learning matter far more than I once believed.
Looking back, the kid who cried over elementary school math problems probably would not have believed that she would later study Chemical Engineering or Computer Science. That change did not happen overnight, and it did not come from suddenly discovering that I was secretly brilliant.
It came from time, repetition, support, and persistence.
Now, when I feel inferior to the people around me, I try to remember this:
- My current ability is not my permanent ability.
- Struggling is not proof that I do not belong.
- Improvement often looks invisible before it becomes obvious.
- I do not need to be the most naturally gifted person in the room.
- I just need to keep showing up and doing the work.
I had a small but meaningful reminder of this at PyCon. I solved a Jane Street puzzle, and the team at the booth told me I was the third person to solve it in the conference. They gave me Jane Street pins as a gift, which was an unexpectedly validating moment.
They also asked whether I might be interested in working at Jane Street—an honor, honestly. They explained that they pay attention to people who solve their puzzles, since it can be one way of identifying potential candidates.
It did not prove that I am a genius, nor did it mean I no longer have things to learn. But it reminded me that I do have the ability to reason through difficult problems. The kid who once believed he simply was not wired for math and logic had grown into someone who could solve a challenging puzzle—and enjoy doing it.
That is why I have become a believer in growth mindset and grit.
Not because they promise that anyone can become anything, but because they remind me that I am not finished yet.