Questioning the Need for Competition: A Reflection at 4 in the Morning

"Do not stay idle, Do not spend time with friends." This and many other pieces of advice I've heard from elders who are there to guide me. I do not accuse them of trying to help me, but when I explore why they impose such advice, I always encounter responses like, "Staying idle for long periods is laziness, and you don't want to be labeled a lazy person, now do you?" or "You spend time with your friends while they make progress and move ahead of you. Don't you want to compete?"

I've often wondered what makes us so bitter towards life. Do we ever really compete with others? Do we ever truly compare ourselves with one another? There are illusions of grandeur, importance, and value, but do they hold true throughout our lives? Should competition and relentless activity be the morals that drive our lives, or should we lay such matters to rest once and for all? Darwin's mantra of survival of the fittest might apply to the evolution of species, but is mere survival enough as a way of living?

As the cool August air surrounds me at 4 in the morning, I ponder these questions, which have always lingered in my mind. I've always loathed competition because what can you truly ever win? You can try your best, but can you ever truly be the best? Are time and status ever fixed or granted? I can't attribute this way of thinking to everyone here on the eastern side of the world, but as a person born and bred on fatalistic ideas, on Hindu religion, I can confidently say that the cyclical nature of life presents itself in many forms and sizes. What comes shall pass; what is first shall someday come last, and the cycle repeats itself ever and forevermore, even within a single life (I cannot speak for the whole cosmic arrangement). My predicament is similar: I am captivated by the love and respect I have for others, and even to maintain those illusions, I find ways to please everyone but myself. I seek praise from others for my efforts; I search for words through which I can speak my truth, but just as I grasp them, they fall short of expressing exactly what I mean to say. Until I find the right words, I will never be at peace, and even then, that offers no guarantee of the end that is to come.

"The Thinker" by Auguste Rodin (sculpture)