The Art of Winning

Winning is everything. 

At this point, you are likely thinking one of three things:

a) I disagree. You must be one of those crazed football fans who paints a letter on his chest. (NO, I’m not!)

b) I agree. When can we go to a game together? (Sorry, I’m already committed to several seasons per year.)

c) I don’t know what you mean. (Read on.)

It is human nature to be competitive.  I think everyone wants to “win” at something. Even the people who claim they don’t care about winning have goals and standards for themselves, that when measured against other peoples’ lives, prompt feelings of anxiety or self-congratulation. If you’ve gotten this far in my blog, you probably think so, too, even if you don’t play Monopoly. (But you should. Who doesn’t enjoy a rousing game of Monopoly?)

Here’s why I think this is true. If competition weren’t a powerful tool, teachers wouldn’t give spelling bees, parents wouldn’t reward good behavior, employers wouldn’t offer incentives, free market enterprise wouldn’t succeed, and the American Dream wouldn’t motivate anyone to buy more or work longer. Introverts wouldn’t set secret goals and reach them. Extroverts wouldn’t share their goals with the world and re-adjust them when the endeavor looks unlikely to succeed. List-makers (like me!) wouldn’t add items to their lists after I’ve completed them, just for the sheer joy of checking things off. (I can’t wait to check this blog off by posting it!)

Competition is powerful. Whether you compete with yourself or someone else, the drive to progress, succeed, and yes, even win, powers at least some of your daily activities. If I had a dollar for every conversation I’ve endured when another parent is listing off the accomplishments of her child–I’d be rich. You know that parent. And you know the internal struggle: do I start talking about my kid’s accomplishments, or should I just listen? (Who’s going to win this?) On second thought, maybe all those people are just sharing because they assume I’m incredibly interested, and maybe I’m the self-absorbed competitor. Okay, so maybe this blog is just for me.

I am competitive. I admit it. I love any kind of board game or card game.  I love watching sporting events, which is good, since I live in a house of 4 crazed sports enthusiasts. (Actually, I can’t think of any family vacation that we have taken that didn’t involve doing sports and/or going to a sporting event.)  I want to do well at work, at home, and at church. So does that mean I want to “beat” people everywhere I go?

Of course not. You don’t have to make the proverbial climb over co-workers or shout obscenities at a referee to prove there’s a drive within the human spirit that must accomplish a task, achieve “perfection,” or receive recognition. We all want to be noticed and appreciated. And when we don’t receive that “pat on the back,” then we begin the comparison game.

So what are we talking about then? Maybe the real issue here is comparison. Comparison fuels competition.

It’s helpful to me to consider the role these concepts play in my life, because every time I’m inclined to criticize, feel jealous, or  act resentful, I can be sure I’m in a dangerously competitive mood, which marks the beginning of a downward spiral–a cyclone that gains speed and scatters debris as it rages through my life–debris like manipulation or truth-bending, withdrawal or self-deprecation. Any of these insecure reactions spawn a storm of fear and impulse to meet expectations or to minimize failures. 

Comparison to others can be a damaging exercise, no matter how motivational it is in the workplace or the classroom. We humans are designed for living life in relationship, not in competition with one another, so when we compete, negativity results. When I compare and compete, I fail to realize that another person’s success or failure neither adds nor detracts from my success if my life is centered on grace and truth.

However, if my life is only about reaching a destination–then I am hell-bent on a race to nowhere. I may still win, but at the expense of the whole experience.

I would venture to assert this concept as true:  winning means nothing after the win. It carries an allusion of continuing value because it feeds  the prideful, insecure animal within. Actually, the experience of striving has the real value.

Striving changes a person’s character; winning only changes perception. This whole process of striving for something is actually an art form. It’s a process through which the participant is changed and and his contribution is validated. The end result doesn’t make him great, although it may bring acclamation. The real greatness is achieved through the striving.

So get your face paint on, if it makes you feel more connected, but I suggest focusing on the journey itself. I will attempt to take my own advice, too, because I really need it. Winning here  on earth isn’t anything; living is everything. When I cease to live, then winning will become the everything I had hoped it would be–and more!