Losing makes you relatable.
My family gets a front row seat to my failures. Together, the Burroughs crew sets goals, adjusts our schedule at home to prepare, and then travels together to try to accomplish them. Sometimes we win. Sometimes we don’t. My reaction on the mat after losing is a microcosm of what my family is experiencing in their seats somewhere in the arena.
Despite the sting of defeat, it never fails to come closely tied with a newfound perspective and freshly lit fire. It’s a feeling that only losing can deliver. And with that also comes the opportunity to build character.
“Everyone loses. But champions never stop fighting.”
Sometimes the lesson is in technical skill development, or a mental psychology adjustment, but other times it’s much simpler.
Sometimes it’s empathy.
Two weeks after my season ended in defeat, this year, my son’s did too. I didn’t have some deeply analytical speech to fire him up, or a critical assessment of his performance.
Just a hug, then a kiss, then a whisper… “I know bro. I know exactly how you feel.”
My son Beacon seeing his hero in defeat at Final X had unknowingly prepped me to be exactly what he needed after his own loss.
As we walked off the mat together, eliminated from the tourney, I promised him we’d both be back next year… better.
That’s a promise WE intend to keep.
See, our kids need to learn to lose matches without losing enthusiasm. Lose, rebuild, fight again. Something his dad has been doing for years, but is new to him. And although it broke my heart to see him cry, it also brought me joy knowing that in order to be refined, you must first walk through fire.
As he walked off the mat he said quietly, “I worked so hard for this.” I stopped him, and pointed across the gym to his opponent. “So did he.”
Though all I see is gold, sometimes it’s the “silver” lining that turns out to be the most valuable.
Stay golden.
⁃ Jordan Burroughs
