I’ve realized in the past few years that I’m extremely competitive – in the strangest ways.

I wasn’t good at sports as a kid. There were a few ill-fated seasons of various things – I tried softball until I realized I’m a slow runner and my hand-eye coordination is poor at best. Then volleyball until I was suddenly terrified of the ball halfway through the season – and that hand-eye coordination thing. I should have realized after a disastrous tumbling class before all of it – that sports were just not my thing.

Because I failed so miserably at all of these things, I just assumed I wasn’t very competitive. I never really cared if someone else won a game, because I knew sports were not my thing. And I had books and random pop culture facts to sustain me for most of childhood.

I’ve realized, though, that I am highly competitive about the things I care about – a small list of things, but my list of things. I take complete ownership of them. And I care a lot.

Thanks to this newly discovered competitive nature, I finally have an explanation for why I’m so hard on myself. I don’t like not being the best.

So I don’t always accept it very well when I’m not.

And the truth?

There’s always someone faster.
There’s always someone smaller.
There’s always someone prettier.
There’s always someone prettier.
There’s always someone smarter.
There’s always someone sweeter.
There’s always someone wittier.
There’s always someone with more class.
There’s always someone more charming.
There’s someone who’s more everything.

But this life is mine – it’s far from perfect, as am I. It’s got cracks and breaks and holes and mistakes. But it’s mine. And it’s enough. Just like I am. I am enough.


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