Years of avoiding competition to be “agreeable” had left me without the drive to push myself. I realized I was missing the motivation that comes from wanting to win and improve. I was 45 years old and had somehow talked myself into believing that competition was unhealthy and that I should be above wanting to win at things. I’d spent years cultivating this zen-like approach to life where everything was about participation and personal growth rather than victory.
Looking back, I think this philosophy started as a defense mechanism. I’d had some disappointing experiences in my youth – sports teams where I rode the bench, academic competitions where I fell short, career opportunities where I was passed over. Instead of working harder to improve, I’d gradually convinced myself that competition was toxic and that I was somehow more enlightened for not caring about winning.
The problem was that this approach had seeped into every area of my life. At work, I’d avoid taking on challenging projects that might showcase my abilities but also risked failure. In my relationships, I’d defer to others’ preferences to avoid any hint of conflict. Even in hobbies, I’d deliberately choose activities where there was no way to win or lose, no way to measure my performance against others or against my own past achievements.
I was living a safe, comfortable, passionless life. And the worst part was that I didn’t even realize what I was missing. I’d told myself for so long that competition was bad that I’d forgotten the thrill of pushing yourself, the satisfaction of improving, the joy of achieving something through effort and determination.
The breaking point came during a company retreat where we had a series of team-building activities. One of them was a friendly competition between departments, and I found myself completely disengaged. While my colleagues were laughing, strategizing, and getting genuinely excited about winning, I was just going through the motions, trying to stay out of the way and not rock the boat. That evening, my boss pulled me aside and asked why I seemed so checked out. I gave him some excuse about not being competitive, but later that night, I had to admit to myself that I was just… empty.
That weekend, I was visiting my brother and his family. His 12-year-old son was obsessed with baseball video games, and he talked me into playing with him. I was hesitant – video games weren’t really my thing, and I hated the idea of possibly losing to a kid. But he was so enthusiastic that I couldn’t say no.
Something strange happened as we started playing. At first, I was just going through the motions, letting him win most of the points. But then he made a particularly great play against me, and instead of feeling relief that I wouldn’t have to try too hard, I felt this surge of… something. Annoyance? Frustration? No, it was competitiveness. I wanted to beat him.
I started focusing more, paying attention to the game mechanics, trying different strategies. I didn’t win that first game, but something had been awakened in me. The next day, I asked him to play again, and this time I was actually trying. I lost again, but it was closer, and I felt this strange mix of disappointment and excitement.
Over the next few weeks, I found myself thinking about those games. I started watching baseball on TV, not just as background noise but actually studying the strategies and techniques. I bought a baseball video game for myself and started practicing, learning the nuances of pitching, batting, and fielding.
What was really surprising was how much I enjoyed the process of improving. I’d practice for hours, gradually getting better at different aspects of the game. I started keeping track of my stats, celebrating when I improved, analyzing what went wrong when I struggled. There was this satisfaction in seeing measurable progress that I hadn’t experienced in years.
The competitive spirit I’d suppressed for so long started coming back in other areas of my life too. At work, I volunteered for a challenging project that had a high risk of failure but also a high potential for reward. Instead of avoiding situations where I might not succeed, I started seeking them out, remembering the thrill of pushing myself in the baseball game.
My colleagues noticed the change. One of them mentioned that I seemed more engaged and passionate about my work. Another commented on how I’d started speaking up more in meetings, offering ideas and challenging assumptions. I wasn’t being aggressive or difficult, but I was no longer content to just go along with the flow.
I also started applying the mindset I’d developed through baseball gaming to other areas of my life. I set fitness goals and worked to achieve them. I took up golf and actually kept score, trying to improve my game rather than just hitting balls around. I even entered a local chess tournament, something I never would have considered a few months earlier.
What was really transformative was understanding that healthy competition wasn’t about crushing others or proving superiority. It was about pushing yourself to be better, measuring your progress, finding satisfaction in improvement. The competition wasn’t against others as much as it was against your own limitations and past performance.
The baseball games had taught me important lessons about resilience too. I’d lose games, sometimes badly, but instead of giving up, I’d analyze what went wrong and work to improve. I learned that failure wasn’t a judgment on my worth but a data point for improvement. This mindset started affecting how I approached setbacks in other areas of my life.
My relationships changed too. When you have just about any issues regarding wherever in addition to how to use Telegra.Ph, you possibly can email us at our web site. Instead of always deferring to others to avoid conflict, I started expressing my own preferences and opinions. I discovered that people actually respected me more when I stood up for what I wanted and believed in. My wife commented that I seemed more passionate and engaged, more interesting to be around.
I started taking more risks in my career, volunteering for high-profile projects, speaking up in meetings, even negotiating for a promotion. I wasn’t guaranteed success, but I was guaranteed to grow from the experience of trying.
Looking back, it’s amazing to think that something as simple as baseball video games could reignite a competitive spirit that had been dormant for decades. But those games provided a safe environment where I could rediscover the joy of competition without the real-world stakes that had scared me away from it.
The baseball games taught me that wanting to win isn’t a character flaw – it’s a natural human drive that, when channeled properly, can be a powerful force for growth and improvement. They taught me that competition doesn’t have to be toxic or destructive – it can be healthy, motivating, and ultimately fulfilling.
These days, I’m still not the most competitive person in the world, but I’m no longer afraid of wanting to win. I have goals I’m working toward, challenges I’m seeking out, and a drive to improve that makes life more exciting and meaningful. I still play baseball video games with my nephew, but now we’re both genuinely trying to beat each other, and the games are more fun for both of us because of it.
The competitive spirit I rediscovered through baseball gaming has enriched every area of my life. It’s made me more successful at work, more engaged in my relationships, and more satisfied with my personal growth. I’m pushing myself, taking risks, and achieving things I never would have attempted when I was hiding behind my “competition is unhealthy” philosophy.
I’m grateful for those video games that awakened something in me I thought was gone forever. They reminded me that wanting to be better isn’t a weakness – it’s what makes us human. And they taught me that the real victory isn’t in never losing, but in having the courage to compete, the resilience to learn from failure, and the joy of pushing yourself to become the best version of yourself.
