It seems that I have used this blog as a time for me to confess some of my weaknesses. I confessed to being a worrier, a list-maker, and a person who hits snooze on her alarm a few too many times. I suppose I may as well confess something else about myself: I'm very competitive.
Those who know me well (or maybe even not that well) aren't surprised by that statement. Just play a game with me and you'll see my competitive side rear its ugly head. Even things that shouldn't be a competition can turn into one if I'm involved. I was reminded of that today when talking to my brother on the phone.
My brother, Scott, was telling me a story about my nephew, Hudson, and just how ornery he is. When Scott asks Hudson to count, Hudson begins, "1, 2, 14" and then grins with a twinkle in his eye. My brother knows Hudson can count, but Hudson doesn't want to count when he's asked. He's being ornery and the twinkle in his eye shows that he knows it, too. Just last night, Scott told me that Hudson was playing with a friend and counted all the way to fifteen by himself without missing a beat. When Scott stopped him later and asked him to count, he again counted, "1, 2, 14" with a big grin on his face.
I laughed as my brother told me this story, and told him that I couldn't imagine what it would be like when Hudson and his two little brothers were all ornery together. I then commented that I wouldn't be surprised if one day Hudson conned one of his little brothers into getting him something to drink by offering to time him to see how fast he could do it. Both my brother and I laughed because that is exactly what my brother did to me.
That's right -- when I was little my brother used to appeal to my competitive nature so I would do things for him. If he wanted something to drink, he would offer to time me to see how fast I could do it. Believe it or not, I fell for it every time. I don't think he ever actually timed me, but he always told me he did. He knew that if he told me I improved my time, I would keep doing it, continuing to compete with myself to do it faster and faster.
Even my husband used my competitive nature to his advantage when he proposed to me. He challenged me to a pumpkin carving contest, made me think I had won, and then showed me his pumpkin, in which he had carved the words, "Marry Me!" Needless to say, his pumpkin won!
My competitive nature isn't always a bad thing. It can make situations fun that might not otherwise be fun. It pushes me to do my best because I hate losing. It challenges me to keep trying, keep learning, and keep improving.
At least now you won't be surprised when my competitive side makes an appearance.
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