On Persistence and Resistance: Two Threads of Survival and Soul

I’ve written often about resistance — about how it moves through our bodies, through ecosystems, and through the long arc of existence itself. Resistance is a word I’ve used to name the ways life pushes back against erasure, exploitation, and entropy. It’s the way a seed presses against the dark soil to reach light. It’s the way we, in moments of grief or despair, can choose not to be flattened by it.

But I’ve come to understand that not everyone resonates with the word resistance. For some, it conjures images of constant struggle, conflict, or defiance, which can feel exhausting rather than nourishing. Instead, the word persistence speaks more clearly to them. And I think that’s a beautiful distinction worth exploring.

Persistence is not the sharp flash of force meeting force. It’s the steady flame that doesn’t go out. It’s the quiet agreement we make with ourselves and the world to simply continue — to hold our ground, no matter the weather, no matter the season.

Persistence is the way life says yes even in silence. It’s the way a tree roots into the earth, holding its own. It endures not through hardness, but through rootedness, through presence, through unshakable spirit.

In this way, persistence is the deeper foundation of resistance. Where resistance pushes back, persistence stands firm. Where resistance burns hot, persistence burns steady. It is the strength that does not break, even when bent. It is the breath beneath the cry, the still center at the heart of the storm.

And the truth is, both are needed. Both are natural. The rivers that carve the canyons resist the shape of the land — but they persist in their flowing, year after year, reshaping stone with quiet patience. The roots of an ancient tree resist the pull of erosion and gravity, but they persist across centuries, growing deeper, holding steady, no matter the winds.

water carving canyon walls

In the same way, we human beings are woven from both. When life demands we stand up, when injustice or grief or fear crash in like a wave, resistance helps us rise. But it is persistence that keeps us from crumbling when the wave recedes. It’s what allows us to hold our own sacred two square feet of ground — even when the world seems to ask us to surrender it.

Persistence is the unbreakable part of us. The part that continues. The part that, even after despair or exhaustion, whispers: I will remain. I will endure. I will begin again.

So whether you feel most at home in the language of resistance or persistence, consider this: both are threads in the same fabric. Both are expressions of life’s will to be, and to belong. And both are alive in you, in me, and in the living world that holds us.