The Myth of the Underdog.

We love underdog stories. We always have. There is something deeply human about watching someone rise from the bottom and reach a place no one expected them to reach. We cheer for the athlete who came from a small village and became a champion. We admire the entrepreneur who had very little and built something big. We celebrate the artist who was rejected for years before finally being seen. These stories move us because they remind us that circumstances are not always destiny. They make us believe that effort can fight back against life.

And that is a beautiful thing to believe.

But along the way, I think we made a mistake. We began to believe that struggle is not only admirable, but necessary. We started treating hardship as proof of worth. We began to feel that success only counts if it was earned through pain, rejection, poverty, or loneliness. In our love for the underdog, we quietly created another myth. The myth that the harder the road, the more legitimate the victory.

Lately, I have started to wonder if that is where we went wrong.

Because life has never been fair. Some people are born into wealth. Some are born into supportive families. Some are raised by parents who make them believe they can face the world before the world teaches them what is fear. Some receive good education, strong health, a useful passport, a safe neighbourhood, or access to people who know how the world works. Some are naturally gifted. Some are beautiful. Some are lucky. Some meet the right person at the right time.

Others begin much further behind. Some grow up without money, without guidance, without stability, without safety, without anyone telling them they are capable of more. None of us chooses our starting point. Yet we often speak about life as if everyone did.

That is where our thinking becomes unfair.

We look at one person and say, “Of course they succeeded. They had money.” We look at another and say, “That one is truly inspiring. They had nothing.” But perhaps we are too quick to decide what an advantage really is. We usually judge advantage from the perspective of what we lacked. If we grew up without money, money looks like the greatest advantage in the world. If we grew up without family support, a loving home looks like the greatest advantage. If we grew up without education, a good school looks like the doorway to everything.

And maybe all of those things are advantages.

But maybe they are not the whole story.

A child born into money may have access to better schools, better coaching, safer rooms, and more opportunities. That is real. It should not be denied. But that same child may also grow up carrying expectation, comparison, pressure, emotional distance, or the fear of becoming a disappointment. Money can open doors, but it can also build walls that other people cannot see. Support can become pressure. Comfort can become weakness. Inheritance can become a shadow. The world may look at that person and see privilege, while never seeing the quiet weight that came with it.

This does not mean we should pretend privilege is not real. It is real. Money matters. Education matters. Family support matters. Safety matters. A passport matters. Connections matter. Anyone who denies this is not being honest. But perhaps we should also admit that advantage is more complicated than we like to believe. What looks like an advantage from the outside may not always feel like one from the inside. And what looks like disadvantage may sometimes create hunger, resilience, creativity, and courage that comfort never teaches.

Please do not mistake this for me disregarding pain. I am not speaking from a place where I have never known struggle. I know what it feels like to have very little. I know what it feels like to pretend you are fine when you are not. I know what it feels like to keep moving because stopping was never an option. So when I say we should not romanticise struggle, I am not saying pain is meaningless.

Poverty is not beautiful. Struggle is not romantic. Suffering is not always a teacher. Sometimes suffering is simply suffering. There is no poetry in not having enough. There is no nobility in being forced to fight for things others received easily. We should not glorify pain just because some people survived it well.

That is the strange thing about underdog stories. They inspire us, but they can also deceive us. They make us believe that struggle automatically makes someone better, wiser, or more deserving. But it does not. Some people suffer and become kind. Some suffer and become bitter. Some grow up with privilege and waste everything. Some grow up with privilege and use it with discipline and responsibility. The starting point matters, but it is not the whole person.

Consider two entrepreneurs. One grows up with very little, borrows money, starts small, fails many times, and eventually becomes successful. The other inherits money, receives a strong education, has family connections, and turns what was given into something much bigger.

Most of us will naturally admire the first story more. I understand why. It feels harder. It feels cleaner. It feels more heroic. But the second story still matters, because an advantage is not the same as an achievement.

Money may give someone a better starting point, but it does not make decisions for them. It does not give them discipline. It does not protect them from failure, pressure, risk, or bad judgement. A person may inherit a door, but they still have to walk through it. And many people stand in front of open doors their whole lives and do nothing with them.

The same is true in sport. We romanticise the cricketer who played on dusty grounds with a borrowed bat. We should. That story deserves respect. But we should also be careful not to dismiss the child who had coaching, nutrition, equipment, and support. Those things can prepare a player, but they cannot play the game for him.

No parent can face the fast bowler for you. No coach can score your runs. No amount of support can stand in the middle when pressure arrives and your own hands begin to shake.

Most people do have an advantage in some form. The question would be whether they recognised those advantages honestly. Did they use them well? Did they waste them? Did they become arrogant because of them? Did they look down on others who were never given the same? Did they remember that their success was not built only by their own hands?

Because behind almost every success story, there is an invisible crowd. A parent who sacrificed. A teacher who believed. A friend who encouraged. A partner who carried more than their share. A stranger who opened a door. A society that created roads, schools, hospitals, systems, and chances. Even the language we speak, the country we were born into, the body we live in, and the timing of history shape what becomes possible for us.

Very few people truly build anything alone.

That does not make achievement smaller. It makes it more honest.

Maybe this is where humility begins. Not by pretending we had nothing. Not by exaggerating our struggle so our story sounds more impressive. Not by hiding our advantages because we are afraid they will make our success look less meaningful. Humility begins when we can say, “Yes, I worked hard, but I was also helped.” It begins when we can say, “Yes, I suffered, but that does not make me morally superior.” It begins when we can say, “Yes, I had advantages, and I have a responsibility to use them well.”

I think this is what we should learn to do more honestly. If you have a distant uncle who can guide you, speak to him. If you know someone who has walked the road before you, ask questions. If technology can help you build something, use it. If your education gives you access to rooms others cannot enter, do not pretend it does not matter. If your language, passport, job, family, savings, health, or even timing gives you an opening, use it.

There is nothing wrong with using what is available to you. The wrong thing is pretending you did not use it. The wrong thing is standing on a platform built by many hands and calling yourself completely self made. The wrong thing is accepting help in private and performing independence in public. The wrong thing is using every advantage you have, then judging someone else for not reaching the same place without those advantages.

The world is difficult enough already.

The problem is not having advantages. The problem is forgetting that they are advantages. The problem is pretending everyone started from the same line. The problem is judging those who struggled more slowly, while praising ourselves for obstacles we never had to face. The problem is building a success story that removes every person, every circumstance, and every piece of luck that helped us arrive.

Perhaps the myth is not that underdogs exist. They do exist. Their stories matter. Their victories should be honoured. There are people who rise from impossible beginnings, and we are right to be moved by them. The myth is that struggle automatically makes a person better. The myth is that privilege automatically makes a person less deserving. The myth is that hardship is the only honest path to success. The myth is that pain makes success more pure. That privilege makes effort less real. That the hardest road is automatically the most honest one.

Use what life gives you. Accept the help that comes. Walk through the doors that open. But do not pretend you opened every door alone.