Losing Is Hard But It’s Not The End Of The World
Here is one thing that athletic competitors hate to hear when things don’t go their way. “Why are you so upset? It’s just a game. It’s not the end of the world.” To those of us who live for adrenaline rush of the games we play, it really is just that. Losing is soul-crushing. However, it’s taken me nearly a half century to come to a realization. I’ve learned, defeat, soul-crushing defeat, really isn’t as destructive as I’ve always made it to be. It is far from “the end of the world.”
Once upon a time, I was a basketball player of some note. I played at a very high level, even representing our country on a traveling team in Italy when I was in high school. When you’ve competed for a long time, with that intensity, you become addicted to the fight. Like drugs, alcohol, food, etc., competition is an addiction that you just can’t turn off. As I become an adult, I transferred my pursuit of challenge to the game of golf. And I’ve had some success.
Here’s the good thing about golf, and the bad thing about golf. Unlike traditional team sports, It is a game where there can be no credit or blame assigned to anyone but the golfer. This past weekend, I was playing a two-day tournament in Greensboro. With two holes to go, I had a two-shot lead. I can take credit for that. Then, disaster struck. On a par 3, I made a quadruple-bogey, seven. I get to take credit for that, too. In the blink of an eye, I went from winning, to not even finishing “in the money.”
Ordinarily, I would have been inconsolable. I would have been seething. I would have been slamming clubs, punching golf bags, storming off on foot to the next hole. This would have been “the end of the world.” Not this Sunday. Not ever again.
You see, two Sundays ago, my normal golf time was otherwise occupied. A dear friend was dealing with an unspeakable tragedy. Her sixteen-year-old grandson had lost his battle with crippling mental illness. She asked me to speak at his memorial service. I was tasked with coming up with something inspirational, something good to say at this awful time.
It was in that moment, standing up in front of that family and their gathered friends that I saw what “the end of the world” really looked like. A young man, so full of promise, who was the light of his family’s life, was gone. The devastation of those he left behind was so palpable, I’ll never forget it.
Anyway, so this past Sunday, after I’d completely blown a golf tournament and normally would have gone insane with anger and self-loathing, a calm came over me. I thought back to two Sundays ago and a voice in my head said, “You know, someone somewhere is having the worst day of his life. Someone is dealing with a pain and loss so permanent, he can barely function. All you did was make a couple of really bad golf shots. So go to the next tee box, par the eighteenth hole, shake your fellow competitors’ hands, get in the car with your beautiful wife and friends and head home.”
That’s what I did. Was I happy? Far from it. Was I the pouting lunatic that would have been normal? Far from it. What was once “the end of the world,” was just ten bad minutes of an otherwise beautiful day, playing a game I love to play. And I’ll do it again, very soon.
And I’ll also continue to pray for my friend’s world to find light again.
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