Retiring Competitive Kim

I never realized I was a competitive person, which now that I think about it, is kind of ridiculous.

I was a ski racer in high school. Not a particularly good ski racer, but still a ski racer. Ski racing is pretty straightforward when it comes to competition. You stand at the top of the mountain, go as fast as you possibly can, cross the finish line and look at the clock. Someone was faster than you or they weren't.

I also played soccer in high school, college, and kept playing into my 40s. Soccer isn't just about wanting to play well, you want to win. You want to beat the team across the field from you, and if they beat you last time, you really want to beat them this time.

Moving into my career and the various leadership roles I had across Finance, Sales, Operations, and Marketing, that competitiveness was still there, but in a slightly different way. Yes, there is winning against the competition, but there are also beating the goals that had been set. I didn’t think of this as being competitive - instead I’ll call it being driven. It pushed me to take on bigger jobs and bigger challenges and kept me going when things didn’t work the first time. I was driven to succeed. 

That drive also set me up with the financial stability to say goodbye to tech, retire, and decide what I want the next part of my life to look like.

Then something interesting happened. Competitive Kim disappeared. And the funny thing is, I didn't realize Competitive Kim existed until she was gone. I hadn't thought of myself as competitive while I was racing, playing soccer, building a career, leading teams, or chasing goals. It was just how I operated. It took not feeling that way anymore for me to recognize how much competition had been part of my life.

At first, I didn’t actually notice she was gone. Then, I started to notice little things like sitting down to play cards with friends and genuinely not care whether I won or lost. Or hiking at my pace instead of keeping up or being first to the destination.

Then Competitive Kim started to creep into Pickleball. I wanted to win against someone that beat me last time. Mistakes were a failure to win. I even thought about playing in a tournament. And I didn’t like the feeling this brought back. 

I don't like Competitive Kim. But here's the complicated part: Competitive Kim is also a big part of what made me who I was and ultimately made it possible for me to be who I am now.

I don't want to lose the part of me that wants to improve. The part that practices something until I get it. The part that takes on a challenge, works through a problem, and doesn't give up when something doesn't go right the first time. I like that Kim.

So maybe retiring Competitive Kim isn't really about getting rid of her. It's about taking the best parts and ditching the rest. But the outcome? I'm learning to let that go.