 Bloody KnucklesMy hands were filthy. A thick layer of dirt had engulfed them like a glove, except for five spots on each hand. Those were immaculately clean and unusually smooth - as if fine sandpaper had been run over each of them thousands of times. Maybe, because it had. The concrete and meticulously placed hoop on top of the garage had become my workshop; the ball, my sandpaper.
Afternoon has turned to evening by now - after a solid hour of countless dribbles that leave your hands tingling, hundreds of shots from every conceivable angle, and, since I’m my own partner, just as many rebounds. I realize any fatigue is merely a mirage when my brother walks out the back door and challenges me to a game of one on one. Immediately I know what the next hour is going to consist of. Not to mention, joy hinges fully on winning. If he wins, he won’t stop talking plus the physical abuse he is about to put me through won’t be worth it. He’s not good at basketball, but he’s big - at least compared to me. He’s seven years older. Every time we play I secretly hope he will find an ounce of compassion and let me win just once. No luck so far. I’ve never beaten him. His strategy, and compassion, haven’t changed. On offense he simply turns his butt to me, dribbles the ball as far away from me as possible, and backs me down. For those unfamiliar with basketball, think of a bulldozer slowly and methodically inching their way right under the rim for the easiest shot possible. He uses his size to his full advantage. I push, shove, and foul my way to game point - next point wins. The problem is, it’s his ball. I try to stand my ground, but he eventually works his way to just a few feet from the rim. As he puts the ball above his head I jump to grab both his arms, swinging on them like he’s a jungle gym. It doesn’t help. He misses his first shot but immediately gets the rebound and puts it in. Game. I’m immediately filled with rage. All I wanted to do was to beat him so I could shut him up. “Maybe next time” he chirped as I walked towards the garage door to pick up the ball. I was calm and cool on the outside, but on fire on the inside. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. Instead of reaching down to pick up the basketball laying against the garage door, I choose a different route. One I immediately regret. I put my fist through our garage window. The sound of the glass hitting the concrete instantly shakes me from my tantrum, just in time to see blood running down my hand. Unfortunately, my hand wasn’t the most painful aspect of the incident. That honor would go to my backside which received five wallopings from dad. The same fire that motivated me to scratch and claw against my brother, the same fire that drove me to practice for hours every day … had just burned my house down. Why Should We Care? Last week I wrote about the pure competition of a child, giving your all in pursuit of nothing but your best. It’s beautiful and fleeting. If only it could last. If only that could be our approach to competition for the rest of our lives. But, it’s not. There is an ugly side to competition too. The ugly side of competition is fueled by the same fire, but with a skewed purpose. Rather than hunting growth through our battles, we begin pursuing recognition and status. The grass-stains are replaced by trophies and we quickly begin to believe that no trophy equates to no growth. What a lousy exchange that we all too willingly accept. This misguided purpose leads us to prioritizing the opinions of others over our own feelings of fulfillment. We go from practicing as a means to maximize and stretch ourselves to preparing as a means to be viewed as superior to someone else or, worse yet, to avoid being viewed as inferior. Our desire to fit in and be like everyone else grows to an all time high. The stakes matter, but they’re relative. A pick-up game against my brother doesn’t appear like high stakes, but try telling that to an eleven year old that wants to prove he’s good enough. To me, those stakes were pretty high. Make no mistake about it, the feelings of inferiority and doubt so many people feel is a result of competition. It’s an external competition we are unknowingly engaged in. And, it’s everywhere in today’s society. The only way to return to the purity of competition is to return to the internal approach of the child. The purpose matters. We had it right the first time. REAL TALK - Action Steps Few things in life are more important than a clarity of purpose. It can provide motivation, inspire persistence, guide decisions, and simplify our focus. Here are a few thoughts to consider when trying to gain clarity on your purpose.
Competition can be a gift or a curse. It can warm the house or burn it down. Purity of purpose and consistent intentionality will allow us to use competition to our benefit rather than our demise. Checkout Surrender the Outcome on Amazon and order The Score That Matters with Ryan Hawk & Brook Cupps. The latest blog from Blue Collar Grit can be found here!
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 Grass-Stained KneesGraham North Elementary school in the no traffic light town of Rosewood, Ohio is alive with a few hundred of Champaign County’s most untamed beasts: kindergarten through fourth grade students. The air in the building is filled with the perfect blend of loving support from teachers that truly cared and nerve-rattling unease from, well, a few hundred six through ten year olds.
It’s 1987 and none of that matters because today we have a football game. The same game we’ve had for the last four days. But, this one is for the championship - all the marbles. That’s right, we were going to decide once and for all which team was the best … for this week - we’ll pick new teams next week … and do it all over again. But, for now, this is IT! We get organized for recess before the bell even rings. I’ve got the football. That’s all we need. We know the boundaries. We know the teams. Now we just wait for the bell to launch us into our sprint to the field, an experience I’m sure most teachers compare to the annual running of the bulls. The waiting is always the worst part. I’ve been waiting since the whistle yesterday called us to line-up and go back inside - easily the worst part of every day, I might add. But, the wait is over. The bell rings and we’re off. The sprint is on. I’m first to the field which means it’s our ball. Suckers walk - they have to go to the other end of the field and kick-off to us. I’m ready. I’ve got my best sweatpants on, with the bottoms pulled up just below my knee as if I’m leading off for the Yankees. Best, by the way, is all about performance and has absolutely nothing to do with appearance - nothing. The same goes for my tall white socks yanked up to meet my sweatpants and the tattered t-shirt topping off the outfit. My school outfit for the day is based solely on what will give us the best chance to win. The most competitive game of recess football - two-hand touch as far as the teachers were concerned - is played that day. Touchdowns are caught, airborne high fives are everywhere, and grass-stains are forever etched into the knees of our sweatpants … I mean, did you even play if you didn’t have any grass-stains? No. No, you didn’t. The grass-stains were the whole point. Why Should We Care? We should care because competing just to compete is being lost. We’re so worried about what we’re going to get or who we’re competing against that we we’re starting to lose the entire purpose of competition: growth, struggle, improvement! Competition is becoming a risk-management decision. Does this hurt my image if I lose? It’ll be better if I don’t put everything into it so I can say I didn’t really try, right? Wouldn’t want to be a ‘try-hard’ after all. What if I go for it and don’t get it? Does that kill my career? What are other people going to think of me? What excuses can I have pre-loaded to soften the blow in case I lose? Is there a way to be really good without doing all the work, making all the sacrifices, and giving up all my time? How far out of my comfort zone is enough? Is there a way I can just appear like I’m a success, without having to do all that? These questions running through our heads are tragic in two fundamental ways: 1. We stop competing; 2. We focus solely on competing with others. All of the questions above are tied to one of these misguided approaches to competition. No competition ultimately leads to a life that reflects back with the unshakable question: What if? We will always wonder what we were capable of doing, who we could’ve impacted, and what true fulfillment actually feels like. Comparison-based competition will take us to a different question: Am I enough? And, if all we do is compare, the accurate answer is ‘No’. There will be no escaping the exhaustion of the chase, the feeling that we don’t belong, and the uneasiness in our own skin. As smart as we are, fourth graders are the wise ones in this area. They’re just trying to get more grass-stains. REAL TALK - Action Steps Here are the grass-stained answers for the questions above:
We don’t get grass-stains from standing on the sidelines. We don’t get grass-stains from playing it safe or hedging our bets. To get grass-stains we have to compete. Sometimes we’ll win and sometimes we’ll lose, but if we’re doing it right we’ll always leave with grass-stained knees. Checkout Surrender the Outcome on Amazon and order The Score That Matters with Ryan Hawk & Brook Cupps. The latest blog from Blue Collar Grit can be found here!  The WaterlineStory Catalyst
What are you doing to keep the main thing the main thing? Gordon MacDonald starts his book, The Life God Blesses, with a story about a mariner consumed with building a sailboat. I’ve paraphrased the parable below: The man set out to build a yacht. He was well liked by all who knew him and intended to build the grandest boat that ever sailed from his yacht club. He named his yacht, Persona and spared no expense to make it look stunningly beautiful. It was fitted with fine brass trim, colorful sails, and every convenience you could imagine in the cabin. The man’s excitement for the completion of his yacht centered on the anticipation of admiration that the Persona would garner. The more he thought about that day, the more focused he became in making certain to add anything that would make her look good. Since no one would ever see the underside of his yacht, the man wasted no money on the design of the keel or hull. “Why should I waste time and money on those things that are out of sight, below the water line?”, he reasoned. So consumed with the appearance, the man failed to ever consider the seaworthiness of the grand Persona. His plan was working. As construction neared completion crowds came to look at the spectacle that was the Persona. Many thought the man brilliant and envied his accomplishments. Finally the day came for the launch of the Persona. As she entered the water, the man’s pride swelled as the crowd admired her. A few other boats joined her on this initial sail. All was well, until she reached the mouth of the harbor where the wind kicked up and the waves grew in size. Suddenly the Persona started to falter. The boats sailing with her, pulled away, returning to the harbor, but the man who had built this grand yacht was so enthralled with his boat, he continued to sail towards the sea and into the growing storm. Within minutes it was obvious the man was in serious trouble, as the Persona began to take on water. As the waves tossed her about, she was unable to right herself as a sturdy vessel should. In a matter of moments, this small storm had taken the grand Persona down. A closer look into her destruction revealed the sad story of the mistaken man. All his efforts were focused on what could be seen, the beauty above the waterline. His vanity kept him from investing in those things that would have made her a solid boat that could weather the storms. And so, the man who so craved the applause of his friends instead was remembered simply as a fool. Insight Trifecta Below are three questions that dive deeper into the topic at hand. My responses are included. I hope you’ll take the time to explore your responses to each as well.
This is the essence of trusting the process and surrendering the outcome. Control of the outcome is an illusion, so why not surrender it? The external presentation is only impacted by how we choose to show up for the process. Clarity of purpose drives clarity of process.
I do everything I can to avoid doing this anymore. I’m constantly gathering feedback and reflecting to be sure I’m honoring the foundational work our program is built on. Incentivizing above the waterline behaviors without the foundational, below the waterline focus is poison for any culture.
I always wonder - is it really work? It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like chasing a purpose or pursuing a calling. I’ve never thought of any of it as work. It’s just what needs to be done to be the best I can be. Question to Carry A final question for you to consider over the next week: How does consistently attending to your unseen work shift your sense of genuine capability versus your concern about external perceptions? In our life, the waterline draws a clear break between substance and immaterial, what we can control and what we can’t, what truly impacts our life and what doesn’t. It would do us all good to become aware of exactly where our waterline is located. Checkout Surrender the Outcome on Amazon and order The Score That Matters with Ryan Hawk & Brook Cupps. The latest blog from Blue Collar Grit can be found here! |
About bcI'm a teacher, coach, and parent seeking excellence while defining success on my own terms. Archives
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