EPT
It's now been nearly a whopping 7 months since I wrote my last blog post, and I already feel like my greatest struggle is but a distant memory. Ever since my failure to qualify for Zotac Cup, which I wrote about in my previous blog post, my perception of myself has changed dramatically. Zotac Cup for those of you who don't know was by far the biggest Brood tour for South and North Americans held last year. During the trials of Zotac I invested myself emotionally and physically more than I ever have in all my years of living. And I failed to qualify. Well, not exactly, but that's the gist. I fell into a post-Zotac depression and my view and love of StarCraft, and even life, while still loved, were forever changed.
Since my Zotac adventures I've carried on with school, but more than that felt a more tempered desire to play StarCraft. My motivation and instiable lust for StarCraft are continually kept at bay by the domineering force of adulthood and growing real life responsibilities. If there was ever a moment in life where I thought it'd be hard to imagine playing more StarCraft, then here it is.
Now when I play the game, I feel capable. But alas, the past few months I have learned, for StarCraft, half the battle is picking up the mouse. At times I defer StarCraft as not a game I want to put all of my heart in to compete, but more for leisurely fun. I've since branched out from StarCraft and dabbled in some Hearthstone, League of Legends, and one other game I can't remember.
Most of all though I've felt a strong contentment with who I am as a person and the idea of failure. I learned a lot about myself, and when you put yourself under such pressure, spectacular results will occur. All of your personality, fears, and boldness come out in a flurry. Acceptance of all possibilities, failure and success, risk and reward - that is StarCraft in-game and out for me.
You have hang-ups, you think of what else could've happened, you feel the bitter ache of loss, the sweet saccharine of victory; in the end it is my acceptance of the possibility of failure and failure itself that makes me a stronger competitor. It is not fear or denial, but knowing and understanding to make failure have new meaning. While I may not have the same fervent desire in my heart to lunge forward with all of my might and being, I feel all the wiser now when I do compete. To take loss in stride is a part of the new rhythm of life.
Now, my lowest pitfalls that I have risen up from, not my greatest achievements, are the moments that I define myself. The experiences engraved in my heart have made me more resilient and bear a rock-like confidence in the face of loss. I can go the rest of my life not having any great achievements, and still feel I've already won the greatest of them all. That is the gift of self discovery through the trials of competition. And what I have discovered is that the acceptance of loss, overcoming adversity, and the persistence to bounce back - that is what makes up true, rock-like strength - not just first place prizes.
