Competition or Compassion? It’s Your Choice.

You know those moments when you’re looking at someone and you think, wow, I wish my life was like theirs? Or from the other side, you look at what they’re going through and think, oh, wow, I am so glad that’s not me. And you sort of do this in-mind comparison of lives—not because life is a competition, but because this is how we gain admiration, empathy and compassion. These are moments of growth, moments of truth, I think.

Or conversely, and for reasons I will never understand, there are those who believe life really is a competition, and they set out to win. Except it’s an impossible thing to do, because no hero in the world can win every single battle. And no one person can horde all the money. And no single person will ever own all the recognition. Or beauty. Or the biggest house/fastest car/best book deal/whatever. And the problem with this game they play is that because of all the above mentioned things, those people will never feel like they win at anything. How discouraging! And also, I think, lonely.

The truth: comparing ourselves to others is highly unhealthy. Life does NOT = competition.

Another truth: growing in admiration, empathy and compassion is great as long as we don’t spoil it with the above mentioned mistake.

It is absolutely, totally, and completely possible to be happy for the success of others, exclusive of resentment, anger, or envy. It is. And it is up to us to decide what we do with both our successes and our failures. I’ve had some of both this week. I did not cry hard over the failures, nor did I run out and celebrate the successes, because I’m trying hard to take it all in stride. Right now it would be so easy to look at the journeys of others and wish for things not in my direct path. But I don’t. I won’t.

Because my journey is mine, and mine alone. I am the one who chose to strap on my seat belt and say yes to the ride. And it’s up to me to keep my hands inside the cart and hold on.

When the car stops and I climb out, I truly, genuinely hope that there are people waiting for me on the platform, as well as those in the cars not far behind mine. Because no matter how fast or how slow or which track we choose to take, we are all attempting to end up in the same place.

And I think it would be really awesome if we could all plan one big party in the end. 

Team Name: Who Stole the Socks?

I know I’ve mentioned numerous times that some of my kids are into sports. Mainly, my girls. Lately, it seems like my life revolves around soccer. Indoor soccer. Outdoor soccer. Competition soccer. Soccer practice. Soccer every day, and on and on and on.

But for all my complaining, I must admit, I’ve learned a lot from watching my girls play. Specifically with their indoor team.

It all started with my oldest daughter, Sneezy. She’s a sports-girl through and through. At some point, she and a bunch of her friends got together and decided to play indoor soccer together. Most of them had played together in city-league soccer or basketball or other sports before, but the idea wasn’t to go in and dominate. Rather, they went to play together and have fun. My younger daughter, Happy, even joined them.

Instead of ordering expensive uniforms—which many teams do—they tie-died T-shirts. Then they made up two important team rules.

1. No matching socks allowed, and neon is luckier than boring white.
2. Post-game cartwheels on the field are mandatory. Everyone must participate.

Then, they persuaded one of the dads to coach and went in to sign up as a team.

They lost the first few games. It took them a while to find their groove and learn to play together. But about half-way through their first season, something clicked. The girls became a team. And they started to win. Even against serious, uniformed teams. Coed teams with tall, competitive boys.

But they have never lost their spirit of fun to the competition. Even when they’re being slammed into a wall by someone twice their size, the parents are laughing because these girls are squealing, giggling, and cheering for each other. Those girls are there for the fun of the game, and it shows.

The two rules they set have never been broken. And after four indoor seasons, their losses can be counted on one hand.

I love to watch these girls play because it makes me look at my own life. Every time they play, I ask myself: will I let competition eat at me until I become crippled? Or will I play for love of the game and know that eventually I’ll find my groove?

Personally, I hate competition. But I love to play—er, um, I mean write. And I’ll happily wear mis-matched neon socks and a home-made tie-dye shirt while I do cartwheels in my back yard if that’s what it takes. Because I am good enough. We all are. And I’ll keep on writing /playing for as long as it takes until I figure out how to win the game.

Who’s with me?