bcg blog

Bloody Knuckles

My 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. 

• Chase Mastery, Not Rankings
  
  • A pursuit of mastery, which we will never achieve, creates an infinite game mindset where the goal is perpetual growth rather than finite wins. The goal becomes pushing edges rather than outperforming someone else. 
    

• Make Your Contribution Your Connection
  
  • Without comparing we can begin to view our contribution more fully. We can make the shift of simply giving our best rather than being the best. Internal competitive wins aren’t hard to come by when the focus is on serving others.
    

• Embrace the Role of Evolving Guide
  
  • A leader needs to view themselves as a guide more than a champion. Achievement is a byproduct, not the goal. Impact is the objective, not recognition. Service is the mission, not accolades.
    

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!