I’ve thought for a long time that I’m competitive. I’ve prided myself on my competitive spirit. But I’m not totally sure that I was right. I think I’ve had a warped idea of what it means to be competitive. And what this competitive spirit is inside of me.
Is it a desire to win? Or a desire not to lose? Do I enjoy winning because someone else loses and that someone isn’t me?
What’s it really about?
Do I want to win because I get something?
Validation, attention, status, reassurance, acceptance.
Am I truly competitive or am I obsessed with myself and getting results?
Typically I’ve confused this competitive spirit with my egotistical drive to control outcomes, to control my self-image, and to control my future.
It’s a selfish drive for control that takes a vicious grip whenever I feel like that control is slipping away.
Anger, frustration, envy, jealousy, bitterness, and hatred all settle in.
This “competitive spirit” is really an ego drive. It’s about me—and me winning, and me looking good, and me earning what I feel entitled to.
That’s not a true competitive spirit.
The true competitive spirit knows that results are not guaranteed. There is no sense of entitlement to outcomes. We are only entitled to the process.
The true competitor shows up, especially when there is no guarantee of success or victory. This is where the spirit is necessary, where we are called to stretch and find new possibilities.
So what is guaranteed?
Things not going my way. Setbacks. Me getting in my own way. Resistance.
The competitive spirit is a drive to grow in the face of this resistance.
It shows up and stands in front of resistance. It sees through resistance and spots something significant—something worth pursuing. It sees opportunity. It wants to enter.
It understands that it must let go to go in. The price of entry is letting go of the outcome, letting go of control, letting go of ego. Letting go is the yes. It is the commitment to the process.
A competitor shows up for a purpose beyond themselves.The competitive spirit knows the life that comes from generosity.
The competitive spirit is a spirit of generosity. It gives.
It does not take like a thief. It shows up and allows itself to be seen. It empowers the powerless, strengthens the weak, and shines a light where there is discouragement.
The competitive spirit is meekness. And in that meekness, it inherits everything.
It’s not about me, it says. It’s about something much bigger than me. Much more meaningful.
A competitive spirit creates significant moments. Moments where momentum shifts, situations are turned around, and purpose is found. And if these moments are unfound, it is believed that they are around the bend. It keeps seeking because it will come.
It is not a spirit of timidness or insecurity. It is courageous. It does not shy away. Even if it wants to, it does not hide.
It encourages, inspires, and builds movement.
The competitive spirit does not separate. It unifies. It does not push others away. A competitive spirit seeks to unite the gaps, to bridge the distance, to cover the empty spaces, to take responsibility, and to show up where needed.
A competitive spirit is the same spirit that pushes you to climb a tree, volunteer in the community, or start a family. It’s a spirit of showing up, being present, and giving everything. It’s a spirit that says yes to the circumstances, whatever they are. It does not seek to take control or possess. It seeks to give, partake, labor, and share.
It commits to the journey when things seem insignificant, when the reality is different from your idea, or when you seem to be losing.
It’s a pursuit of being pushed past what’s familiar and safe. It’s a pursuit of discomfort, a welcoming of transformation and newness.
It does not seek to compare against others.
A competitive spirit does not worry about where it lies in the pecking order. It does not pay attention to its rank. It does not care about yesterday’s news.
It shows up. Regardless of anything. It gives itself, totally. No reservations.
It knows that we are entitled to the work, not the reward. The labor, not the harvest.
And even in knowing this, the competitive spirit says ‘yes.’
