Success isn't always about how good you are at your best. Sometimes it's about how good you can be at your worst.
We're wrapping up the first quarter of school, which means it's time to post grades. As I was going through my students' work, I found myself thinking about something I've observed time and again in teaching and coaching.
I've got some students who are doing exceptionally well, and I'm proud of them. I've also got some students who aren't doing nearly as well, and I still believe in them. I've seen what they're capable of, and I know they can do better.
So what's the difference?
It's tempting to say that the students earning the highest grades are simply better at math. Maybe they're smarter, more talented, or naturally more capable. But that's not necessarily what I see.
In fact, when I look at my struggling students on their best days, they're often pretty darn good. When they're engaged, asking questions, and putting forth a genuine effort, they can accomplish more than anyone looking at their report card would ever expect.
The same is true of my highest-performing students. On their best days, they're pretty darn good, too.
But here's where I've noticed a significant difference.
It's not necessarily their ceiling that separates them. It's their floor.
Everybody Has Good Days
Think about the last time you had one of those days when everything seemed to go right. You felt good, you were motivated, things made sense, and the work seemed to come naturally.
Those days are wonderful. They're also relatively easy to navigate.
When we're motivated, confident, and comfortable, doing the things necessary to be successful doesn't require nearly as much discipline. We feel like doing the work, so we do it.
But what about the other days?
What happens when you're tired? When you're frustrated? When the work is difficult and you don't understand something? What happens when the motivation you had yesterday is nowhere to be found today?
That's where I see the difference between many of my students.
My successful students struggle, too. They get confused, they make mistakes, and have days when they would rather be doing something else. But when those days come, they generally find a way to keep going. They ask a question. They try another problem. They get some help. They may not accomplish everything they hoped to, but they accomplish something.
Some of my struggling students respond differently. When things get difficult, they shut down. Sometimes they don't even show up. Other times, they sit in class and decide that because they don't understand something immediately, there's no point in trying.
"I don't get it."
"I can't do this."
"I'm done."
And just like that, a difficult day becomes a zero.
Not because they weren't capable of doing anything, but because they allowed their frustration to convince them that doing nothing was their only option.
The Mathematics of Showing Up
Since I'm a math teacher, let me illustrate what I'm talking about with some simple arithmetic.
Imagine two students who are both capable of earning a 90 on a good day.
The first student has a difficult day but manages to earn a 50. Maybe they didn't understand everything. Maybe they struggled through the assignment and needed some help. But they stayed engaged and got something accomplished.
Their average over those two days is:
(90 + 50) ÷ 2 = 70
Now imagine the second student. Same ability. Same 90 on the good day. But when things get difficult, they give up and earn a zero.
Their average?
(90 + 0) ÷ 2 = 45
That's a 25-point difference in the average, and it has absolutely nothing to do with how well either student performed on their best day.
Now, these are simplified examples, and learning is obviously more complicated than averaging two numbers. But the principle is worth considering.
We spend a lot of time trying to improve our best performances. And, maybe feeling like a failure when we don’t. We want higher grades, faster times, bigger accomplishments, and greater achievements.
We want to raise our ceiling.
But what if we spent just as much time working to raise our floor?
What if, instead of worrying so much about how great we can be when everything is going right, we focused on how productive we can remain when things aren't?
Raising Your Floor
I think this idea extends well beyond the classroom.
Consider physical fitness. It's easy to work out when you're feeling strong, rested, and motivated. But what about those days when you're tired and don't feel like going to the gym?
Maybe you don't have your best workout. Maybe you don't lift as much weight or run as far as you normally would. But you do something. You go for a walk, do a few push-ups, or spend 15 minutes moving your body.
That's raising your floor.
Or consider your relationships. It's easy to be kind, patient, and thoughtful when life is going smoothly. But how do you treat people when you're stressed, frustrated, or having a bad day?
Can you still listen? Can you still show some kindness? Can you still choose not to take your frustration out on someone else?
That's raising your floor, too.
The same principle applies to our work, our finances, our health, and just about anything else we hope to improve.
We don't have to be exceptional every day. But we can work toward becoming the kind of person who doesn't abandon our principles and responsibilities simply because the day is difficult.
And here's something else worth considering: Raising your floor doesn't mean lowering your expectations. It means raising your minimum standards.
There's an important difference.
Discipline Is What Happens on the Difficult Days
I've written before about discipline being a superpower, and I think this is a perfect example of what that means.
Discipline isn't simply the ability to work hard. Most of us can work hard when we're excited about what we're doing and things are going our way.
Discipline is the ability to continue doing something worthwhile when you don't particularly feel like doing it.
It's the decision to ask another question when you're confused. To attempt another problem when the first one didn't work. To show up when staying home would be easier.
And sometimes, discipline means recognizing that you need help, asking for it, and accepting it.
Of course, there are legitimate reasons we sometimes need to stop. Illness, exhaustion, and circumstances beyond our control are real. Rest and recovery can be responsible choices. I'm not suggesting we should ignore those realities or expect ourselves to operate at full capacity every day.
What I am suggesting is that we learn to distinguish between the times when we genuinely need to step away and the times when we're simply uncomfortable with the work required of us.
Those are two very different situations.
One calls for recovery. The other often calls for perseverance.
Learning to recognize the difference is part of becoming a disciplined person.
Small Efforts Change the Direction
There's another benefit to raising your floor that I think we sometimes overlook.
When we give up, we don't just lose the opportunity to accomplish something that day. We also lose the opportunity to develop the skills and confidence that come from working through difficulty.
Every time a student asks a question instead of quitting, they're practicing something valuable. Every time they struggle through a problem and eventually figure it out, they're providing themselves evidence that they can overcome challenges.
And that evidence matters.
I've seen students who genuinely believe they're terrible at math begin to change that belief simply because they start experiencing small successes. They don't suddenly become mathematical geniuses. They begin to recognize that their effort can produce results.
They start to trust their ability to learn.
That's how capacity is built.
Not by avoiding difficult things, but by engaging with them and gradually becoming more capable of handling them.
And the more capable we become, the higher our floor rises.
Something that once caused us to give up might eventually become something we can work through with a little patience and effort.
What used to be a zero becomes a 30. Then a 50. Then perhaps a 70.
And eventually, what once seemed impossible becomes something we know how to do.
That's growth.
A Different Way to Measure Progress
I wonder how much our lives might improve if we changed the way we measured progress.
Instead of always asking, "How good can I become?" perhaps we should occasionally ask, "How do I respond when I'm not at my best?"
What does my effort look like when I'm tired?
How do I behave when I'm frustrated?
What do I do when something doesn't come easily?
Do I look for a way forward, or do I look for a way out?
Those questions might tell us more about the direction of our lives than our occasional moments of exceptional performance.
Because the truth is, our lives aren't made up entirely of our best days. They're made up of all our days, including the difficult, frustrating, and ordinary ones.
And what we consistently do on those days matters.
I'm proud of my students who are earning high grades. They've worked hard, and they deserve to enjoy the results of that effort.
But I'm equally interested in the students who are struggling, because I see potential in them that their grades don't always reflect.
My hope is that they'll begin to recognize something important: They don't have to be perfect to make progress. They don't even have to be particularly good at something yet.
They just have to find a way to keep learning, keep trying, and keep moving forward.
And maybe that's a lesson for the rest of us, too.
We can keep working to raise our ceilings. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be better, accomplish more, or reach new heights.
But perhaps one of the most meaningful improvements we can make is to raise our floors. In fact, I believe it’s easier to reach a new ceiling when the floor is higher as well.
Because success isn't determined only by how high we can rise on our best days. It's also shaped by how far we refuse to fall on our worst ones.
You can get there from here.