Tag: win

  • How My Dad’s Advice to Let Someone Else Shine Created My Fear of Success

    How My Dad’s Advice to Let Someone Else Shine Created My Fear of Success

    “Sometimes what you’re most afraid of doing is the very thing that will set you free.” ~Robert Tew

    Everyone has fears. It is not an emotion that is only for a chosen few. One’s fear may seem irrational to the outside world, but I guarantee to that person it is debilitating. So much so, that it shapes their perspective and how they see the world. My fear is of success.

    I know what you’re thinking. “That doesn’t make sense at all. Who doesn’t want to be successful?” Well, let me explain what I mean.

    You see, I am an introvert, so I don’t really want to draw attention to myself at all. My “success” is a personal gain, not a flashy show of pride to the world.

    I wasn’t quite sure where this fear of success began until this year when I was talking to my wife. Our discussions brought up a memory that I am sure started this fear.

    When I was twelve years old, I loved basketball. It was my all-time favorite sport. You had to be good individually but also as a team.

    Being introverted, I had to work hard at the latter, but it was a challenge I was willing to take on because I loved the game so much. I practiced all day every day. My grandma even brought me a basketball hoop to put in her driveway so I could practice. (This was a big deal because she loved her yard and thought the hoop made it look less appealing.)

    Nonetheless, I got good and made the basketball team. So now I could work more on the team aspect.

    One day I was at my cousin’s house, and we were playing basketball. A teammate lived across the street. After my game with my cousin, she came over and challenged me to a game one on one. I agreed

    As we were playing, I noticed she became more intense and aggressive. I didn’t pay much attention to it and just kept playing. When I won the game, I went toward her to say, “nice game.”

    She threw the ball at me and ran toward her house crying. I was so confused. My dad saw and made me go with him to her house, where she was sitting on the porch.

    He asked her what was wrong. She said, “Why does she have to be so good? She always wins. I’m not even a starter because of her.”

    My dad pulled me to the side and said, “You don’t have to be good all the time. Why don’t you let her win sometimes?” 

    I remember being confused. My twelve-year-old mind couldn’t understand why my dad would want me to lessen myself so that someone else could achieve, even though I worked hard. But he was my dad, and she was crying.

    Later, I found out that the girl was the niece of my dad’s future wife. I guess he was trying to impress her. But that’s a story for a different blog.

    From that time on I questioned the results of my success. If I succeeded would people be upset? Would I be taking someone else’s spot? Would this person hate me? Should I not try my best?

    This fear of success became a big deal in my twenties. At that time, I decided to make good on a goal I set for myself when I was in high school—to become a poet like Maya Angelou and Nicki Giovanni and a writer like John Grisham.

    At that time, I was working at a tutoring center, and there was this nice older gentleman name GW. He always saw me writing in my journal, and one day he invited me to an open poetry mic night that he held on Fridays in a barn.

    I didn’t think much of it. When I went home, I looked up the guy and learned that he was a famous poet. So, I decided to take him up on his offer to attend.

    It was great, everyone was kind and just wanted to share their work. After a couple of visits as a spectator, GW asked me when I was going to share my work. The thought was scary for me.

    It took so much for me to even attend. I told him I was just enjoying being there. He then said something that I hold on to even to this day.

    He said, “When you are a writer you have to become two people: the author Nesha and the regular Nesha. The regular Nesha can be afraid and introverted. But the author Nesha needs to be strong, confident, and want success, not fear it.”

    He then told me he was going to feature me as the poet of the night, where I would do a set of my poems for fifteen minutes for everyone. I reluctantly agreed.

    It took so much for me not to cancel. I had to constantly tell myself, “This is author Nesha.” I had to work on being in a room where all the attention was on me. It was a lot, but I’m glad I did it

    This fear of success is tough to deal with, especially as I continue to pursue my writing career.  I feel as though I have multiple personalities. “Author Nesha” wants success. I want to be a famous writer with people reading my books.

    “Regular Nesha” is introverted and just wants to write because I love it. “Regular Nesha” is afraid. I am afraid that I will get successful, and everyone will criticize my art that I worked so hard on.

    Will people say I shouldn’t be where I am because I am not good enough? Will I be taking someone’s spot? Will people want to meet me, touch me, speak to me?

    This fear of success has also morphed a bit into social anxiety. When I do open mics (which is rare because of my fears) I need to have my wife by my side.

    I remember one time I did an open mic, and as I was speaking, I noticed this woman crying and staring intently at me. My mind began to swirl with so many questions. Why is she staring at me? Does she think my work is bad? Will she want to talk to me?

    When I was done, I walked to my seat near my wife. The woman came and sat behind us. She touched my shoulder, which brought fear to my heart. I turned around. She was still crying.

    She said, “Your words brought me so much joy. I am crying because I recently lost my mom and your poem reminded me of her.” It was happening! Someone was talking to me!

    All I could think was, this is going to spiral into a full-blown conversation. All I could muster up was “I’m glad you liked the poem, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

    That night was difficult and exhilarating. Difficult because so many people came up to me and wanted to talk and shake my hand, and I was so afraid and had so many thoughts flying through my head. Exhilarating because OH MY GOD! People liked me!

    This battle between “Author Nesha” and “Regular Nesha” is something I deal with daily. Not only in my pursuit of being a writer but in other aspects of my life.

    I am an English teacher by day. In my staff meetings, I’m afraid to share my ideas because what if I succeed and some people like them? Will they expect me to always have good ideas? What if others are upset at me or think less of me because of my ideas?

    But then again, I want to share my thoughts because I worked hard on them and feel like they are worthy to be shared.

    I know you’re thinking, how do you survive? Well, first, I had to acknowledge that what my dad did when I was twelve was not right. He may have thought he was doing the right thing, but he should never have told me to dim my light so someone else could shine.

    Second, I try to do things out of my comfort zone. For example, in my staff meeting we were discussing how to improve student motivation. Usually, I don’t speak, but I pushed myself to share what I do in my class, and they loved it.

    Of course, I couldn’t help but question If they really loved it, or if someone was upset about my idea, but I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on what I can actually see and hear.

    Finally, success is relative. My idea of success may not be someone else’s idea of success, and that’s okay. By learning these things, I can now follow through on things that scare “Regular Nesha,” and that is me facing my fear of success.

  • Why I No Longer Need to Be the Best at Everything I Do

    Why I No Longer Need to Be the Best at Everything I Do

    “I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live up to what light I have.
” ~Abraham Lincoln

    As a child, my father always told me, “At everything you do, you have to be number one.” I tried. In some ways, I succeeded. I got high grades. Sometimes, the highest. Sometimes, I got awards.

    I became an expert at figuring out other people’s expectations and meeting them. This got me approval, but it never made me happy. I wasn’t passionate about grades, awards, or approval. I didn’t feel butterflies in my stomach while doing math. I didn’t feel shivers down my spine while conjugating French verbs.

    I loved to write, sing, dance. I was the girl who made up song lyrics and got them stuck in her head. I was the girl who stayed up after her parents went to bed to dance around, sing into my pillow, and crawl out onto the roof to dream about flying far, far away. I was that girl who couldn’t understand my thoughts until I wrote them down.

    Despite my parents’ wishes for me to pursue an academic, intellectual route, I went to theatre school. There, I thought I would explore the deepest crevices of my desires. I was wrong.

    I found the fine art education world to be shallow, and I found myself to be the same. My mind fixated on being the best. I never was. Disappointed with myself as much as the program, I dropped out. I slunk back to logic and facts. Skepticism. Analysis. Things I was good at. I got good grades. I got awards.

    But being good at something is never a replacement for loving it. I was addicted to academic achievement because it earned me approval. I could never get enough. Again, I got hungry for art.

    After I almost led myself into an early grave, I realized how important it was to make time for the things that made me feel alive. Yet on that journey, I’ve found myself constantly in the intermediate pile. Sometimes, beginner. Never, ever the best.

    I run all the time, but I’m not fast. I’ve been doing yoga for ten years, but I still can’t do Crow Pose. I’ve been playing acoustic guitar on and off for years, and I still struggle with barre chords. I’ve been singing since I was a kid, and my performances are inconsistent. I’ve been writing since I could hold a pen and doing it for a living since 2012, but most people have never heard of me.

    For years, my father’s voice haunted me, telling me to always be number one. I tried to reject his advice, refuse it, write it off as worthless egotism. But still, it gnawed at me.

    One voice in my head said I should accept myself just the way I am. Another part couldn’t help but point out all the room for improvement. Along the way, I’ve realized that one voice doesn’t need to defeat the other. They just need to learn to get along.

    Accepting my skill level at something is self-loving. Who would doubt that? But assuming that my skills can’t or won’t ever get better is self-sabotage. To work on improving myself is a kind of self-acceptance too. I accept my ability to learn—however slow and awkward that learning process might be.

    Some people say that we should always try to be better than who we were yesterday. I can’t agree with that. Some days, I’m less patient, less energetic, and less kind than I was the day before. And that’s okay.

    Because, for me, the goal isn’t to be number one compared to others. And it’s not even to be number one compared to past versions of myself. Instead, I’ve learned to do be the best at just one thing: being my own number one fan, supporter, friend, and mentor.

    It’s not an easy job. It’s not easy to unconditionally love someone and motivate them to make changes. It’s not easy to hold someone when they’re breaking down one day and push them to do better the next day. It’s a paradox and a balancing act. It’s hard. But it’s incredibly worthwhile.

    I spent all those years competing. Trying to be the best. Trying to be perfect. Trying to get recognized, acknowledged, noticed. Trying. Trying. Trying. Never succeeding.

    But now I know that the reward for pursuing the passions that light me on fire isn’t the same as the reward for pursuing status, recognition, or achievement. There are no grades, no awards, no medals that can quantify the way my chest bursts open when I sing something real. There are no numbers to measure the lightness I feel in my body when I write words that make me sob and cry and heal. The reward is the experience.

    We live in the age of self-esteem. The school system tells young kids: “You can be anything you want to be! You can do it all!” But the message woven into even the most encouraging words is that the measuring stick of success is achievement, recognition, award.

    What if all that those kids want to be is happy? Or angry? Or tortured? Or whatever it is that they feel in that moment.

    Self-esteem is nothing but a cheap replacement for self-love. I don’t need to esteem myself. I know I’m an awkward, beautiful, human mess. At most of the things I do, I’m somewhere between mediocre and interesting. At some things, I’m between awful and mediocre. But I love that I do them anyway.

    I appreciate myself so much for doing the things I love, even though I’m not “number one” at them. I am grateful for how much time, care, and effort I put into trying to be a good friend to myself.

    And that’s what I think life is really about: learning about myself. Trying to be a good friend to my reflection. A best friend, even.

    So many of us miss out on the chance to experience self-intimacy because we forget what friendship is all about. It’s about secrets, inside jokes, and adventures. It’s about heartbreak, healing, and presence. We don’t love our friends for how skilled, accomplished, or perfect they are. We love them for being real, for walking beside us on the confusing, chaotic road of life.

    And that’s what I seek to be for myself: an intimate friend. A fellow voyager. A curious companion. Maybe it doesn’t sound like much. But to me, it’s an accomplishment that I achieve and celebrate every single day.

    **Editor’s Note: Vironika has generously offered to give away ten digital copies of her new book, The Art of Talking to Yourself (preview available here). A different kind of self-help book. Instead of giving you expert advice and magical solutions, this book will help you discover your own expertise and use it to hear, understand, and change your inner conversation. You can learn more and read reviews on Amazon here.

    For a chance to win, leave a comment below. You don’t have to write anything specific. “Count me in” is sufficient! You can enter until midnight PST on Sunday, August 13th. 

    UPDATE: The winners for this giveaway have been chosen. They are: Aegira, Simona Celarova, Ted Young, Kat Gál, Bernadine, Gregory Dees, Athreyi Raj, Jessica Rodriguez, Gayne Brenneman, and Marty Lesak Sloditski.

    Photo by Allef Vinicius

  • Why Being the Best Is Not the Key to Happiness (And What Is)

    Why Being the Best Is Not the Key to Happiness (And What Is)

    Happy Man

    “A bad day for your ego is a great day for your soul.” ~Jillian Michaels

    A few weeks ago, when I was feeling a bit down on life, I was surfing through Facebook and found myself getting more and more upset.

    There were weddings and vacation photos and posts about promotions and new purchases and all the great things that happen in people’s lives.

    These were my friends, and I couldn’t understand why I felt so unhappy. Why did I feel a pit in my stomach that I wasn’t good enough when I heard about someone getting the job of their dreams? Why was I so thrown by other people’s lives going well?

    That’s when an idea that has been bumbling around my mind for a few months hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized something I’ve always known but never had words for.

    I realized the evil of my own ego.

    Ever since I was young, I was that kid in school who needed to be the best, who needed all the awards.

    I took something I was good at (academic achievement) and created an identity around it, visualizing myself as the Best. And I succeeded. I was valedictorian. I graduated Summa Cum Laude.

    I got the awards, the grades, the standardized test scores, the recognition, all of which was meant make me happier. It never did. 

    With an identity centered around being the top dog in my field, I became obsessed with the people who were better.

    There was always someone who achieved more than me, or someone else who got an award I wanted. Even if I was number one in the class, there were always those points that I missed or the looming fear that I couldn’t do as well on the next test.

    I made myself miserable trying to placate the beast inside me, a beast that was never content, could never relax in the glory of what I had accomplished. It always wanted more, more, more.

    I walked away from that academic life almost a year ago and started writing books. Right away, I realized I had to fight that ego, suppress the beast inside me that still wanted to be the best.

    Writing has always been my joy in life and I didn’t want to do it for money, fame, or success. I wanted to do it because it was something I’d always wanted to do. 

    For months I fought down my ego and tried to focus on the simple joy of creating stories and playing with characters.

    I certainly slipped up a number of times and I still compare myself to others on bad days (like the one described above), especially other writers my age. But on the days I can put that self-image aside and just be, those are times of true bliss, the days I’m happier than I’ve been since I got my first A.

    Perhaps you won’t agree, but I’m starting to believe that a significant portion of the bad things in life stem from our own gluttonous egos.

    We want to be the best, be recognized, be validated and put on a pedestal, but years of research and eons of evidence tell us that those are not the things that make human beings happy.

    Ironically, it’s selflessness that tends to make us most content.

    Doing work for no other reason than because you love it; giving time to your family or a cause that matters to you; luxuriating in the simple pleasures of a good meal, exercise, a book you love, or a beautiful view—these are the things that matter, the things that make our experience on Earth worthwhile.

    Money, fame, glory, accolades, recognition are like heroin to the human brain. Some deep and intrinsic part of our nature wants them, and when we get them it sure is a rush to the system.

    But the rush is fleeting, empty, and immediately requires more.

    Focusing on these material, external things and structuring our lives around them can be just as unhealthy as destructive drugs.

    The trap of vanity can capture a soul and mutilate it beyond recognition. Relationships fail, passions are lost, and years later we find ourselves wondering how we spiraled down to such a point.

    I know because I’ve been there.

    I compared myself to my peers in school. I’ve compared myself to my friends on Facebook. I let competition run my life for years. And never once did it make me happy.

    I’m not perfect and I still fall into the trap of wanting to impress everyone. But I’m fighting that instinct day by day, trying to do what all the sages and wise men advise: Don’t give an owl’s hoot about what others think of you. 

    So kill your ego. Don’t compare yourself to others (a truthful cliché) and do things just because you enjoy them.

    Create work you love. Spend time with people who make you happy, make you better. Enjoy the views, climb the mountains, swim in the oceans, and do all the things you’ll be happy to remember when you’re old.

    I can personally guarantee fighting to “win” the game of life isn’t going to be one of them.

    Happy man silhouette via Shutterstock

  • The Truth About Failure: How Hitting Hurdles Makes You Successful

    The Truth About Failure: How Hitting Hurdles Makes You Successful

    Woman Jumping Hurdles

    “There are no failures. Just experiences and your reactions to them.” ~Tom Krause

    I had spent years training for this race. This was the big one. If I won and made the qualifying time, I would go on to compete in the Canadian National Track and Field Championships.

    I was burning to win. Only the winner of this race would qualify. Second place wouldn’t cut it.

    Competing at the national level could lead to all kinds of opportunities: sponsorship, athletic scholarships, and a career in athletics.

    My favorite form of self-torture was the 110-meter hurdles. I lived and breathed sprinting and hurdles. Track and field was my life in my last year at high school. In fact, track was probably the only reason I even showed up at class.

    I was good at it too. I had run the fastest time in my event that season and I was on target to win the Provincial Championships.

    I trained four to five days a week on the track, plus I hit the gym two to three times a week. I was in peak form and ready to destroy my competition.

    I was laser-focused on the day of the event in Vancouver, Canada, at the Provincial Track and Field Championships. In my races, I was usually the first one out of the blocks and this race was no different. I exploded out of the starting blocks and was the first one to reach the first hurdle.

    The hurdles for my age category were thirty-nine inches tall (three inches lower than Olympic height), made of thick wood, and were weighted with a metal base. When you hit them, they resist and they don’t move much.

    Best if you don’t hit them.

    I felt powerful in this race. By the third hurdle, I was already taking the race. At no time was anyone in front of me.

    Then, I started hitting hurdles. A lot of them. Each time you hit a hurdle, it dramatically slows you down.

    Some hurdles I smashed into with my knee, while others I hooked with my foot. Painful every time.

    And I didn’t just graze the hurdles. I really clobbered most of them. At times, it almost brought me to a complete stop.

    I hit five hurdles that day. There are ten hurdles in total. It was the worst race I had that season.

    Despite hitting so many hurdles, I still came in second place. I could have touched the winner with my arm, it was that close.

    If I had run a clean race like I usually did, I would have shattered my previous fastest time. I would have easily run the fastest time that year in the province and I would have qualified for the Canadian National Track & Field Championships.

    I was devastated after that race. All my training for nothing. I wasn’t going to get a chance to compete nationally. Game over. Done. I felt like all the life had drained out of me.

    That was the last time I ever jumped over a hurdle.

    I spent the rest of the summer partying and hanging out with friends. I became a bit directionless and I no longer had much interest in going to university (the only reason I was thinking about going was so that I could compete in athletics).

    At the end of summer, I started working full-time in a supermarket and saved up cash. By spring of the following year, I was on a four-month trip around Europe with one of my best friends.

    After that trip, the demands of life took over. I got stuck in low-paying jobs for a few years.

    I had an unhealthy diet and I would sometimes get drunk on the weekends. I barely had time or energy to even go for a short jog once a week.

    Failure Hangs Heavy

    That race is still my biggest failure in life. Seems silly but there it is.

    Over the years, I occasionally thought back to my track and field days.

    “That race was mine and I should have won that. If I had won, maybe I would have gotten sponsored by a sports company. Maybe I would have gotten an athletics scholarship. I might have had a sports career. I totally screwed up my big chance.”

    The concept of failure is very pervasive in most modern cultures. It’s also responsible for a lot stress, poor health and well…basically crazy, unbalanced behavior.

    In our culture, the attitude of “Second place is the first loser” is prevalent. You’re either a winner or you’re a loser. Not much in between.

    We equate “winning” and success with achieving certain milestones such as having high salaries, being in a relationship, or having high-status roles in life. For many of us, not achieving these external successes means we’re failures.

    Additionally, “mistakes” are often not tolerated at work or in relationships with people. There is usually a background, gnawing pressure to always say and do the right thing.

    Failing can feel like an imminently dangerous threat that we must avoid at all costs, and cover it up when it does happen.

    But it doesn’t have to be this way. If we just shift our focus, we can use failure to propel us towards our goals.

    You Must Fail to Have Success

    Quite often, when learning something new, we think that we have to nail it right off the bat. Who wants to look like a rookie, right? A clueless beginner?

    Nope, not me.

    Everyone wants to avoid mistakes and failure. But it is precisely through the path of making mistakes and “failing” that we learn.

    You will hit hurdles in your life. You’ve been hitting them. What matters is what you do after you hit one.

    In my case, I focused on my failure. I focused on hopelessness and I identified myself as being a failure just because I had a bad race.

    I didn’t value coming in second. I ignored what was good and I was dismissive of anything positive that I had achieved.

    I even gave up doing something I really loved doing.

    You can see how dangerous having a “win or lose mindset” is, right? It shuts down our learning, closes off options and causes us to suffer emotionally.

    We need to focus on our little successes, on what we did right and on how to keep learning and improving.

    Let’s get comfortable with the idea that we’re going to make “mistakes” and that we might not always run perfect races.

    If you take on the challenge of cultivating an improvement-oriented mindset, this will help you in all areas of your life.

    You’ll become curious about your mistakes, observing yourself kind of like a scientist might: How can I do this better? What could I do differently so that I can avoid making that same mistake?

    Winners and No More Losers

    I still cringe sometimes when I say or do the “wrong” thing, but I usually catch myself and resolve to do something different the next time.

    If I feel ashamed about making a mistake (or bombing big time), I try to move on as quickly as possible.

    I recognize that my mind is my greatest ally; I’m the one who defines my own version of success, and I re-frame my experiences in a healthy, positive way, whenever I can.

    Everyone deserves to “win” in life, and everyone is capable of reaching their goals in a way that is emotionally and physically healthy.

    Can everyone really be a winner in life?

    Yes, definitely…and you don’t need to come in first place or be the “best” to be a winner. When you love what you’re doing and when you’re focused on learning and making small improvements, anything is possible.

    That’s winning.

    Woman jumping hurdles image via Shutterstock

  • Are You Betting On Yourself Or Against Yourself?

    Are You Betting On Yourself Or Against Yourself?

    Jumping

    “The fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself.” ~Paulo Coelho

    I stood there in the parking lot of my apartment complex, with the hot Phoenix sun beating down on me, as I watched him drive away for what I thought would be the last time.

    With tears rolling down my cheeks, I went inside my apartment after his car had turned the corner and was out of sight.

    When the door closed behind me with that familiar thud, I could almost feel the loneliness swallow me up.

    We met nine months earlier and quickly fell in love. But his time in Arizona had come to an end when he graduated from ASU. With no jobs in sight in Phoenix, he was hitting the highway and driving back to his hometown of Seattle to use his contacts to find work.

    I wanted to go with him, but I was afraid of leaving all that was comfortable and familiar to me.

    When he drove away, with his car filled to the brim with all his belongings, I imagined my life without him. I knew I my life would carry on, as I would wake up every morning, go to work, come home, and hang out with friends and family on the weekends. Perhaps even months down the road, I would probably start dating again.

    Life would inevitably continue—but without him. The thought of being in love with someone who I’d never see again was a hard thing to swallow.

    Step Right Up and Place Your Bets

    Every day, moment by moment, we make choices. Some of those choices seem inconsequential. Most of us only feel the burden of choice when we are faced with one of those “big life decisions.”

    Taking a new job, moving to a new city, starting a business, or having a child, just to name a few. (more…)

  • Why Sometimes It’s Good to Be a Loser

    Why Sometimes It’s Good to Be a Loser

    I love the word loser. I enjoy playing with it, feeling into it, and feeling my own gut reaction to the idea of allowing myself to be one. Some of the time.

    Our culture is obsessed with winning.

    At school we learn that we have to compete to get what we want. Many of us grow up internalizing this idea and subtly infusing it into our relationships, friendships, career, and even spiritual path.

    If this is strong in us, there can be a pervading sense of alienation, disconnectedness, or even mistrust that we carry around.

    In my early days as a Buddhist monk, I remember being almost shocked when I began to see that in the quietude of my mind, in this harmless, benevolent environment, I was secretly measuring myself and others according to how “spiritual” we were.

    And I was trying to be the best. I was doing many things, some of them ridiculous in hindsight, to be seen as “better than.”

    The flip-side of this was that I never felt good enough. Our fixation with winning is an attempt to cover up this feeling of being somehow deficient.

    A couple of years ago, I met an old friend, who asked me what I was doing these days. I replied, somewhat mischievously, “Being a bit of a loser.”

    His expression was telling. He looked confused. Then he looked sad for me. Then he asked, “You’re joking right?” (more…)

  • Choose to Lose

    Choose to Lose

    Two Friends

    “Being right is highly overrated. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.” ~Unknown

    We all know someone who always needs to be right.

    She turns everything into an argument worthy of a courtroom, complete with counter arguments and below-the-belt accusations. She finds holes in everything you say, even if you were actually agreeing with her. And in the end she needs the last word, even if means belittling you or ignoring your feelings.

    Not everyone acts this righteous all the time, but we’ve likely all tried to win in an argument at least once before.

    Maybe it’s the rush of feeling like the more powerful or intelligent person, or perhaps it’s just a stubborn resistance to bending. Whatever the case, we all play to win in conversations on occasion.

    The irony here is that winning rarely feels as sweet as the fighter imagines it will. Research shows competitve people take less pleasure in their successes than their less combative counter parts because they’re rarely satisfied with their accomplishments, ever-ready to seek the next win. (more…)