When asked, “Where is your backbone?” most people point to, well, their back. When I am asked, “Where is your backbone?” I point to my gut. The place known for butterflies, irritable bowel syndrome. But there is more to the gut.

The gut symbolizes courage. Having “guts” represents the raw fortitude to overcome, to push forward, even in the midst of situations that scare us or situations we must stand up against. The gut is our “second brain,” a vast network of neurons firing beneath the ribs. Perhaps that is why fear arrives there first—in the belly—before we believe we can do anything about it. The gut-brain crosstalk may influence our behavior. Perhaps courage, too, then has a nervous system. 

When I point to the gut when asked where my backbone is, I mean to ask: Do you possess the courage to stand up for yourself and your beliefs? Do you stand up for others? Do you protect people who are being mistreated, ignored, or taken advantage of? Where does your courage lie? 

Or are you spineless? Is your self-interest paramount? Are you a boss who talks a big game? Telling your employees at every turn, “I’ll go to bat for you,” only to sit in the “secure” dugout when they are hit by a 100-mile-per-hour pitch? You know they were wronged, injured—yet you watch and think: “I am just glad that was not me.”

Or do you run out to the umpire, kick up the dirt, throw your baseball cap on the ground, even in the face of getting ejected? Do you argue the controversial calls? Or are you complacent—letting your lineup fend for itself? The players will remember. The players always remember. Memory keeps the score. Memory is witness. Memory tallies loyalty. Betrayal, too.

For all of us whose spine has gone missing, every now and then, we may tack up “wanted” posters for it. But our spines can be regrown (metaphorically). If we desperately seek to do what is right, when “right” is on the line, do you pick up? Send it to voicemail?

While imperfect, I hope my records show that I answer more than I look away. That I storm out onto the field…even with a shaky, unsure voice…and say something, anything. Often alone. The alone: the hardest part about finding courage. When you finally stand there, in those moments by yourself, that’s when you know you’ve found that backbone of yours. 

So when asked, “Where is your backbone?” I do not say much. I point to the whistleblower. I point to Chris Smalls, Frances Perkins, Sherron Watkins. 

I know who I don’t point to. To them, I point to the bullpen and say: Watch. This is only the first inning. The gut: just warming up.

L.W.