Entry 25.35

On my last deployment, we got to camp early in the year. On off nights, it wasn’t uncommon for groups of us to gather in the “Mdub”, short for MWR, short for Morale, Welfare and Recreation. Some nights the game of choice was darts, others pool and on yet others poker. But ping pong always seemed to be something to just pass the time waiting for your turn at darts or pool. It never seemed to be the game of choice. As time went on and members of camp changed out, we had a guy come in who liked to play ping pong. Very competitive about it. I watched him egg others on to play him and he tended to win handily. He was pretty good. Eventually, I became his next target. It was like he was trying to win against everyone on camp. I brushed him off for a while, but eventually there was no denying him a game. I told him the next night we had off I would play him. I hadn’t played for a while. Well since my last deployment two years prior. Before that, I hadn’t played since college so about nine years before that. So, I was a tad rusty. But unlike my deployment in 2017, I brought my paddle with me. Just in case. When I showed up to the Mdub carrying my blue nylon case, I got some looks. But he didn’t flinch. He was confident in his abilities. And I don’t blame him. He had played a lot of ping pong, and he beat everyone he played. He lost a game here and there, but overall, he had come out on top vastly more than he lost. As we started to volley preparing for our game, it was evident that I hadn’t played in quite a while. I hit the net. I missed the table. As we tested each other’s defenses and attacks, we started to gather a crowd. I don’t know if it was the fact I brought my own paddle or that I had been ignoring his requests to play for so long, but people were interested. I began to doubt. I was late on some of his attacks. I clumsily handled his volleys and had difficulty managing his spin. I tried harder. It didn’t help. In fact, I got worse. I was trying to prove I was better that he was. He knew he was better so had nothing to prove and was playing free. It really began to look like I was about to get blown away. Finally, he asked if I was ready to start the game. Terms were set. First to 11, win by 2. We volleyed for service. In a shocking turn of events, I won. Not because of anything I did. He made a mistake. In my head, I had already decided I was going to lose. But I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. I stopped trying and just played the game. As I did, little by little my feel came back to me. I won a point. And then another. In the end, I would lose. By two and not the blow out I had expected. Not the blowout I think everyone expected to see. As he always did when he won, he asked if I wanted to play another game. That question would be his downfall. You see, I had doubted myself, with my right hand. But not my left. I accepted his offer and without a word, slipped my paddle into my other hand. This time there was no doubt. There was nothing for me to prove. To me, the end was certain. We volleyed for service. I let it go just long enough to get in rhythm and then claimed service with a ferocious forehand winner. I’ll be honest, it wasn’t necessary. It was way over the top in fact. It had the intended effect. The entire room stopped. Like you could’ve heard a pin drop. If you haven’t ever watched elite level table tennis, there is an intensity on a finish like mine, that isn’t just seen. It isn’t just heard. It is felt. I won that game handily, 11-0. And the next. And the next. He eventually won a point. One. Over the remainder of his time on camp, we played a total of fifty games. He never won again.

I didn’t beat him forty-nine times in a row to prove a point. I had nothing to prove. Not to myself. Not to anyone else. You see, the first time I attended college, I played a lot of table tennis. My third year in school I had a little free time. Ok, I had a lot of free time. For the first time, I was able to do something besides school and work. Somehow table tennis became the thing to take up my time. At first, it was just for fun. Then I found I was pretty good at it. I started to play more competitively. I won a lot. Then an older gentleman showed up who absolutely owned me. He came just to play table tennis. He had no other affiliation with the school. He just downright enjoyed playing. And he was good. But he took the time to not only beat me, but to teach me. I began to learn how to attack, defend and feint. To control the amount of spin I put on the ball. The direction of that spin. How to curve the ball. Forehand and backhand. Within a few months, he was about the only player that I enjoyed playing with because it was always competitive. So, I started playing other players with my right hand. And I got pretty good, but never as good as my left. But I had learned a valuable lesson. Winning is not the only point of the game. I think it was the first time a sport (yeah, I said it), became about more than winning for me. Just as the older gentleman had done for me, I began to help others get better. Helping them get better meant playing them would be more fun. Then one semester two new students showed up. They were good. Like stupid good. They beat the pants off me. They beat the pants off the older gentleman. One of them played for the Junior National Team of Malaysia and the other was in the national developmental program in Singapore. When I say they were good. They were GOOD. We played a lot. I spent hours playing table tennis with the three of them. We played singles. We played doubles. We all improved. And we rarely kept score. We played for the love of the game. I ended up making it to the finals in the table tennis tournament that year by beating my friend from Malaysia and lost to my friend from Singapore. I still love to play. I love to watch Olympic table tennis. I was good but I wouldn’t have stood a chance against those guys and girls. But I had learned to play for more reasons than to win. So, when I played that night in 2019, it wasn’t to prove I could play. Or win. I plain enjoyed playing. Still do. So, I did the same thing the older gentleman had done for me. I helped my opponent get better. We would volley all night and never keep score. His last night on camp, we played our final game. While I still won, I gained more satisfaction that it was by 2 than by that initial whooping I dealt.

While I could talk about sportsmanship, friendship, and more, I want to focus on something I glossed over earlier. Self-doubt. When I was playing right-handed, I doubted myself. If I had been playing more, I wouldn’t have. If you were paying attention, when I started to doubt myself, I started to try harder. And I got worse. Which doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t jive with what we are told to do. We live in a world where the message is “If you aren’t good at something, try harder.” The problem is that doesn’t work. Trying harder is a response to doubt. You are trying to prove something, either to yourself or to someone else. In sports, we “prove” how good we are by winning. In golf, that proof is shown by scoring better than par or by beating your playing competitors. That is where we tend to focus. The winning. The proof. Walking this out logically, proof then is a response to self-doubt. We don’t try to prove something that is certain. There’s no point. It’s certain. Nothing more to prove. That’s where I was playing left-handed. I was certain. I had watched him play. I had no doubt that I could beat him left-handed. I wasn’t trying to prove anything by beating him. But after that first game, the tables had turned. He was shrouded in self-doubt. It was evident. I’d wager that after that finish to determine service, the game was already won. I don’t remember each point, but I do remember how easy it was to win. Not because of how good I was, but because of how hard he was trying. What I had experienced right-handed, he was experiencing. He was the top dog on camp when it came to table tennis, until that night. Until that one shot. He now had something to prove. He had something to lose. He was a winner. Not just a winner, but THE winner. The second that idea was imminently threatened though, he cracked. I’m not talking about at the table. I’m talking mentally. He was no longer able to play free. He had to try harder. Trying harder didn’t work.

While we still played a few games a night (usually a best out of three or five), most of the time we just played. Because there is nothing to prove when you just play, there is no reason to doubt yourself. The catch is you have to just play. That’s hard to do. As humans, we are competitive by nature. On the playground, in the classroom, in the office, etc there is always a competition going on. If you meet someone who says they don’t care about winning, ask them to transfer their bank account over to you. They won’t. Why? Because money is essential to living life these days. People don’t work for free because then you can’t win at living life. I’ve known one person who would work for free. My accounting professor at my first school. His salary was one cent because for him to be an employee, he had to be compensated. The catch is that he didn’t need any more money. Before coming to teach, he was the Chief Financial Officer of Dr. Pepper before it was acquired by Cadbury Schweppes (I believe) and received a golden parachute in the takeover. He was a rare case of working for free (basically). His working for free(ish) is as close as you can get to playing the game for the love of the game. He taught because he loved doing it. He could stop any time he wanted to. It’s hard to play the game of golf, just to play the game. Even when you are playing alone, you still have a strong competitor. Par. It’s hard to get par out of your head when you play. How many of you have gone out just to play with no intention of keeping score and then by hole #4 you find yourself playing well and then par comes back into your mind? Suddenly you are no longer playing the game just to play the game, you have slipped back into trying to prove yourself. And you start to try. Maybe like me, you make it through hole #4 unscathed to reach #5 and now you are trying really hard. That’s where I tend to make a big number. But there are times when I make it all eighteen holes. When I go to Scotland or Ireland, I never keep score. I’m not there for a score, I’m there for an experience. I make myself live in the moment. I fight and fight to make that my focus while there. Those trips have helped me learn how to play golf for the love of the game back here at home. The tenacity I have abroad to live in the moment I do my best to replicate back here at home. I’m not great at it, but I’m getting better. Usually by hole #7, I’ve stopped keeping score again if I started. Now not keeping score doesn’t mean I’m not trying. Not trying comes in two varieties. The first type is where you don’t care at all. No motivation, no attentiveness, no effort. At that point you might as well walk off the golf course. The second type of not trying is where you aren’t trying to prove anything. You are motivated, attentive, and giving it your all. But you’re doing it because those traits make you happy. You feel fulfilled. You need nothing more than to play the game to be happy.

Self-doubt is a happiness killer. If the only reason you play the game is to win, you are missing out. You’re trying too hard. You think you have something to prove. When you go out on the course to play for the love of the game, you don’t try too hard. The result? You are free. Mentally and physically. Swinging free is one of the best feelings ever. Makes the game feel too easy. Any shot you try to hit you can. Putts fall like rain. The downside? It’s far too easy to fall into the trap of trying to make things happen to keep playing well. Trying makes you tense up physically. What was just so easy now feels impossible. So, you try harder. It doesn’t help. It won’t help. It just makes it worse. Instead stop trying. Why isn’t it work when you’re doing something you love? Because you’re doing it because it fulfills you, not because you have something to prove. Your relationship with golf should be the same. Don’t play to win or to prove anything. Play just to play. Play for the love of the game.