It all started with a simple comment that was said in passing. One that was intended to be a compliment, but instead was taken to be a semi-neutral statement, and quite frankly, a stupid one: “Thanks, you’re a winner!”

Automatically, my crazy kicked in. What really made me a winner? I mean, I opened a door for someone, does that mean I win? Win what? Did I want to be a winner? But the truly probing thought that continued to sit patiently, waiting its turn to be heard at the base of my brain was why is winning so important?

Throughout my four years in high school, I played water polo. And no, before any of you failed comedians ask, no horses died. Oftentimes unheard of, I’ve always described it as a mix between the strategy of basketball or hockey, wrestling and soccer nets, all while in the water. Confusing as it may be, and as difficult and physical the games always were, I decided to play as a delicate, itty-bitty 14-year-old. Why, I still have absolutely no clue (I think I was bribed and somehow blocked it out of my memory).

Freshman year we won around seven games throughout the season, celebrating with Frosties from Wendy’s after most away games. And for those of you who are confused, you’re on the right track: seven games were won out of, I’m guessing, about 100. Yeah. However, we weren’t worried.

Looking back, no one ever really cared about the score, but rather about the team itself, and the individuals that made up the team. During those seven victorious games we saw coaches get red flagged, opposing teammates start punching, refs being screamed at, and parents calling us obscene names. A girl on our team was even bitten (with the teeth-marks visible and everything)! But no matter, we did not punch back, we did not let our frustration become the best of us, because according to our coach, the small amount of games that we would win, we would win fairly.

Slowly over the four years that I had the honor of playing, the screaming died down, the scores started climbing, and by my senior year, we played at Districts and I had been invited to play at Nationals with MSU.

Everything began to fit into place, but anyone who joined the team knew that we did not win, we played. For each other, for our coach, but certainly not for one number to be higher than another.

People who win are never remembered for winning, but for their story, or (to be fancy) the miraculousness of a series of events. Numbers are soon forgotten, and the pride that accompanies the conquest is soon forgotten.

Memories remain along with trinkets, sometimes shiny and sometimes seemingly insignificant to an outsider’s perspective. Whatever the case, we should be in it for the experience, not the win. Plus, put like that, it is harder to get disappointed when the job has already been filled, or the scholarship has been won (I won’t include March Madness brackets, because with all of the upsets, it’s hard not to get upset. Get it? That was funny).

A good attitude is a win: that is what makes you a winner. If you’re willing to look at the bright side, and admit that the glass might just be half-full, you are already half way there.
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