On Friday I was catching up with a dear friend of mine, and in an effort to make small talk he asked me if I was following any of the March Madness Football.
Yeah. So I don’t really care for televised sports and obviously most of my friends don’t either (though even I know that March Madness is about baseball, not football--jeez). I’ve never been able to get into all the hype. But recently in one of my classes I was required to reflect on the nature of competition, and this led to a lot of self-reflection.
I played sports as a kid. I played basketball early on and then slowly transitioned to softball and baseball. My mom always forced me to try something at least once, and then if I didn’t like it, she didn’t push me to continue. But aside from pushing me to give these things a try, there was no more pressure from my parents. I can remember basketball games with other parents who would scream from the sidelines until they were blue in the face. I always felt so sorry for those girls as I watched them run up and down the court with tears streaming down their faces because their parents were never satisfied.
I didn’t need crazy parents to fuel my competitive streak, though. That’s the weird thing. I have enough of a competitive nature all on my own. I was a very aggressive defensive player. And if you tried to stop me or if you got in my way I WOULD THROW YOU TO THE GROUND. Remember, this is elementary school we’re talking about here.
I think transitioning to softball was better for me. It’s somewhat less of a contact sport…. But I don’t need a basketball court or a softball field in order to display my dominance. If you’ve ever played a game of Risk with me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
The thing with competition is that I don’t think I’ve ever been competing against the other team; I have always competed against myself. If my team lost a game, I never really took it personally because, you know, it’s just a game. I was my softball team’s captain in 8th grade, and I was super encouraging to the girls when they were beating themselves up over striking out or not playing the field well. After all, we’re just here to have fun. But if I did something wrong, well then that was a completely different story. It’s amazing how my brain interprets a given situation. A strikeout? Oh. Guess it’s time to get “Loser” permanently tattooed onto my forehead.
My problem is that I’m a perfectionist who doesn’t believe in myself. That means that if there is a competition that I don’t believe I can win, then I won’t even participate. Perfectionists aren’t content to just get by. We have to be the best. So in my coursework, if there is an assignment that proves to be too much of a challenge, I would rather not turn anything in and get a zero than submit something that might reveal my inferiority. That’s how you end up with a “perfectionist” with a C average. It’s fear. I’m afraid to confront my own inadequacies.
If it sounds like I don’t know where I’m going with this, that’s because I don’t. I’m pretty much working this out as I go along.
Perhaps the real issue is my source of self-worth. I’m not even sure what standard I’m trying to measure up to, but I am slowly learning to accept that literally no one can live up to the standards that I have set for myself. If I’m ever going to be able to truly love myself, then I have to stop being my own opponent.
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