Good enough has been fantastic!

When I was in high school, the old country was a long, long way from becoming the world's digital back office.  Even landline telephones were a luxury back then.  Very few had telephones at home.  A vast number of villages had yet to be electrified, and towns and cities frequently suffered power outages.

In that old India, employment opportunities were scarce.  Most kids who were academically smart were encouraged, pushed, and even shoved into engineering or medical colleges because of the employment and income potential.

I didn't need teachers or parents to tell me that I had enough and more in me; every subject came easily to me, especially the sciences.  I rarely ever did any homework because I typically finished them during class time.  At home, I read magazines and fiction, mostly in Tamil, which is why my mother claims, and rightfully so, that she never ever saw me do homework or study.

Thankfully, my parents adopted a completely hands off approach.  My mother was consistent in her approach to life whether it was us helping in the kitchen or helping ourselves with school work--she was clear that we knew what had to be done and it was our responsibility to get them done.  If we didn't, she didn't make a big deal of it either. 

My father was the one who typically signed off on the progress report card.  I don't recall him commenting about marks and ranks.  

There was one occasion--the only time ever--when my father commented that I might not be not giving it all.  True to the old culture, he talked about the story of Hanuman.

In the Hindu mythology, the young Hanuman, with way too much energy and immense superpowers, plays too many pranks on the sages.  The angered wise men curse Hanuman that would not know how powerful he is unless and until he is reminded of his immense powers.

My father said that I was capable of achieving a lot and that he was reminding me of that as much as Hanuman had to be reminded.

I was sure that he meant it.  But, I carried on without changing my approach to schooling and understanding the world.

Now, looking back, I think it comes down to my dislike for competition.  Whether it was K-12 school or backyard badminton, I liked to play but not to keep score nor to win.  Even now when I suggest that we play games without keep scores, I come across as the crazy one!

To live a life to win it all has never appealed to me.  I am glad that I picked up this idea somewhere, sometime.

Not only did I not care to win it all, I realized early on that I couldn't relish victory either when there is a losing side.  When India won an exciting cricket match against the West Indies, I was all pumped up as a kid could be.  And then it dawned on me that at least a few kids in the West Indies were perhaps utterly devastated by the loss.  After that, in the years that I followed sports, I could never truly enjoy the wins because I would think about the losing side and their fans.

This deep-seated distaste for competition is perhaps also why I often quote Rumi in this blog.  In one verse, Rumi sums it up:

Inside the Great Mystery that is, 

we don't really own anything. 

What is this competition we feel then,

before we go, one at a time, through the same gate?

It has been a struggle to fit into this modern world, especially in America that practices Vince Lombardi's "winning is the only thing" philosophy.  People like me are viewed as, well, losers who can't make it.  I am glad I have made it this far without being focused on winning.

May you also find a comfortable corner to enjoy it all without keeping score!