Rising Reveals the Heights Within Us
Created at: September 12, 2025
We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. — Emily Dickinson
A Line That Uncovers Latent Greatness
Emily Dickinson’s line “We never know how high we are till we are called to rise” suggests that our true stature remains concealed until a summons demands it. In her poem “We never know how high we are” (c. 1861), she continues, “And then, if we are true to plan, / Our statures touch the skies—,” implying that fidelity to an inner design transforms pressure into elevation. Thus the call is less about external praise and more about an event that renders our concealed capacity visible.
Courage as the Bridge to Performance
From this insight, courage becomes the bridge between potential and performance. Albert Bandura’s work on self-efficacy (1977) shows that belief in one’s capability crystallizes through demanding mastery experiences, not quiet ease. Similarly, Carol Dweck’s growth mindset (2006) reframes hard tests as opportunities to grow rather than verdicts on worth. In that light, the call is a catalytic frame shift: anxiety turns into purpose, and effort organizes itself around a goal we now recognize as ours.
History’s Ordinary People, Extraordinary Moments
When belief meets need, ordinary people often rise. Rosa Parks’s quiet refusal in Montgomery (1955) catalyzed a movement precisely because an everyday citizen accepted a public summons. Decades later, Capt. Chesley Sullenberger landed US Airways Flight 1549 on the Hudson River (2009), a feat documented by the NTSB, revealing how years of practice converged in minutes. Likewise, the Apollo 13 team (NASA, 1970) improvised life-saving fixes—“Failure is not an option”—illustrating how collective competence discovers its height only when the moment demands it.
Why Pressure Sometimes Lifts Us
Physiology helps explain why calls to rise can elevate rather than crush. The Yerkes–Dodson law (1908) links moderate arousal to optimal performance, while Jim Blascovich’s challenge–threat model (c. 2000) shows that when we appraise our resources as exceeding demands, the body produces a challenge profile—efficient cardiac output and sharper focus. Training, meaning, and social support bias us toward challenge appraisals, so the same pressure that might debilitate can, in context, become a scaffold for peak execution.
The Invisible Ceiling We Impose
Yet, as Dickinson warns in the poem’s closing, “The Heroism we recite / Would be a daily thing, / Did not ourselves the Cubits warp / For fear to be a King—.” Self-limitation makes ceilings feel natural. The impostor phenomenon (Clance & Imes, 1978) and stereotype threat (Steele & Aronson, 1995) reveal how doubt distorts self-measurement. By naming these forces and seeking accurate feedback, we loosen the warp and prepare to meet the next summons with steadier hands.
Training for the Moment of Summons
Consequently, we can practice rising. Deliberate practice (Ericsson, Krampe, & Tesch-Römer, 1993) targets weaknesses until they become strengths. Stress inoculation (Meichenbaum, 1985) gradually exposes us to pressure, just as flight simulators rehearse rare crises so responses become automatic. Implementation intentions—“If X happens, then I will Y” (Gollwitzer, 1999)—compress decision time when the call arrives. Through rehearsal and reflection, each trial compounds into confidence that is earned, not asserted.
Communities That Call Us Higher
Finally, we seldom rise alone. Expectation is contagious: the Pygmalion effect in classrooms (Rosenthal & Jacobson, 1968) shows that others’ belief can measurably lift performance. Mentors, peers, and institutions issue the calls—an entrusted task, a stretch role, a vote of confidence—that surface our stature. When leaders design cultures of challenge and care, the summons becomes routine, and, as Dickinson intimates, heroism becomes “a daily thing,” not a myth reserved for the few.