“Grit” is one of those words people love to throw around when they talk about Texas, like it’s something we sprinkle on breakfast tacos next to the Cholula. But in Lubbock, grit isn’t an idea; it’s a survival mechanism. It’s what gets us up, puts pants on our bodies, and sends us straight into weather that feels like it was programmed by a glitchy computer.
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And you don’t need to be a cowboy or someone who says “I’m fixin’ to” without irony. If you live in West Texas long enough, grit just gets baked into your DNA — right next to the gene that makes you panic-buy bottled water and call every thunderstorm a “doozy.”
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Lubbock grit is waking up to freezing fog, high winds, and dust thick enough to exfoliate you, and still heading to work like it’s fine. It’s brushing sand out of your hair in December without blinking. It’s hearing tornado sirens and thinking, Let me grab my laundry real quick.
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It’s also how we handle the hard stuff. Texans — especially West Texans — have a strange talent for carrying on. When life hits us with something heavy, we mutter “it’ll be alright,” even when we’re not sure. And somehow… it usually is.
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Grit here isn’t about being tough — it’s about being tough enough. It’s the single mom still showing up, the dad coaching Little League in 50 mph winds, the teenager wearing shorts in 30 degrees because “it’s not that cold.”
Texas grit is quiet, ordinary, and unimpressed by struggle. It grows in inconvenience, chaos, and dust storms — right here in the dirt.
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