[Bruce Achterberg]

Here comes Bruce, the strengths-theory guy, to comment on the article!

So Steve, Kyle probably has Competitive as a talent them, or perhaps Achiever. (Edit: judging from Erin's post above, it seems he might have some Includer in there as well.) It's hard to tell exactly what, but what is more important is his behaviour--it doesn't really matter what you label it with, so long as you can identify it.

I react exactly like Kyle does, although I do have the maturity to push through. I, according to both my StrengthsFinder 1.0 and 2.0 results, have Achiever as a talent theme, and in my case, that manifests as me caring about my reputation.

Achiever

Personalised theme description

Because of your strengths, you see yourself as a logical, rational, sensible,
and wise person. Once you establish this reputation with people, you work very hard to maintain it.

Copyright © 2000, 2006-2007 Gallup, Inc. All rights reserved.

Not sure why this is-although I'd say it's the result of Maximiser + Achiever-but I know it comes up.

It comes up in a competitive game where, if I don't have a practice mode to play in and I know I'll lose in a mode that records your losses and wins, I tend to feel less drawn to play, even if I want to play, because I feel I need to maintain my reputation.

This isn't a fear thing, or even an ago thing; it feels more like a positive draw, as if maintaining my reputation feels better than playing the game. Even though I may enjoy the game if I actually play it, I'll always be aware of whether my reputation is maintained. If I win-that's great! But if I lose... well, suffice to say I feel that positive draw toward keeping my wins high, and my losses low. The draw isn't as enjoyable as I may make it sound, but I feel fulfilled if I appease it. That is certainly a talent thing, since I've experienced a similar sensation with other talent-related things. And while that may sound like some sort of addition, I'm wired to fulfill it. Should I fulfill it consciously and intelligently, it's also quite likely to make me extremely effective.

Now I've no idea how this specifically manifests for Kyle, but I thought I'd throw that info out there. Kyle is probably going to frustrate the bejesus out of you with his avoidance of failure as he grows up, heh. You're Mr. "Dive in and fail", and he he is (from the sounds of it) Mr. "Did you say failure? Nope, won't be engaging in that."

The good news is that I often fail a lot (a lot! Did I say "a lot" yet?), but I somehow manage to do it without my talents taking a beating. In time, I'm sure Kyle will, too.

But this topic is too fun to stop here.

Let's explore an eerily-applicable story Marcus Buckingham tells in the (excellent, yet not-for-everyone) book Go Put Your Strengths to Work:

My son Jackson is five years old, and already I know some things about him. For example, I know that Jack is passionately competitive. Not in the way that most kids are, with their vague preference for winning over losing, but in a deep-and-abiding-hated-of-losing kind of way. If he's watching his favorite football team on television and they start to lose, he can't stay in the room. He is compelled to run into the other room and bury his face in the sofa cushions. It's a physical thing. His need to win is such an overwhelming force that, once it's triggered, he doesn't know quite what to do with himself.

Last year, as a special reward for being nice to his younger sister for a week, I took him to watch the Arizona State Sun Devils play the Rutgers Scarlet Knights in the Insight Bowl. I picked this football game, first, because ASU was his favorite team. I'm still not entirely sure why. And second, because I judged ASU more of a football powerhouse than Rutgers, so I was pretty sure I could guarantee a win for "our" team.

All went well in the run-up to the game. I had been worried that Jack would be frightened by the extravaganza of a full-blast college bowl game, but he seemed unfazed by it all. The parachutists with smoke pouring out of their heels, the pregame fireworks, the marching bands, the huge inflatable helmets with the teams bursting onto the field through clouds of coloured smoke-it was all fun and games for Jackson, perched on my lap with his little Sun Devils cap on.

Until, that is, the game started. ASU stalled on its first possession. Rutgers got the ball and quickly scored a touchdown. ASU turned the ball over again, and Rutgers scored another touchdown. Then ASU turned the ball over again, and so there we were, seven minutes in, out team down 14-9, and no offence in sight.

And we had to leave the stadium.

It began with a small, polite, "Dad, can we please leave?" Which prompted a calming, "oh, don't worry Jack, ASU will rally" from me. But then things escalated. Not to screaming and shouting and carrying on. He's not that kind of kid. But as the minutes ticked by, and as ASU continued to struggle, Jack became more and more agitated. He twisted in my lap; a distressed, squirming, unhappy little creature burying his head in my shoulder. Then came a barely audible whimper: "Please, please, Dad, can we leave?"

Which, of course, we did. I can take a hint. We left at the end of the first quarter and wound up watching the rest of the game in our hotel room across the street, where the lack of atmosphere was more than made up for by our ability to grap the remote and flip the channel whenever ASU's fortunes took a turn for the worse. (Jackson's happy ending: ASU won 45-40 on a last-minute touchdown.)

I wish I could have persuaded him to walk back into the stadium, particularly after ASU came back to take the lead in the second half, but Jack was having none of it. He feels losing as a physical pain, and he needs-really, truly needs-to be able to shut it off if, God forbid, it starts to happen. That's Jack. And that will always be Jack. My wife and I didn't cause him to be this way, but as far back as I can remember, he was this way, and he always will be.

He won't grow out of this. He won't come to believe that winning and losing are childish concerns. Sure, when he grows up, his competitiveness will manifest itself differently than it does now, but regardless of how much fun the "taking part" is, he will never be able to ignore the outcome. When, as an adult, he learns a new skill, his first thought will still be "What's the score" as it was last week when he picked up a ping-pong paddle for the first time.

"There's no score, Jack. You have to learn to hit it back before we can start scoring."

"Oh." Pause. "What's the score, Dad?"

Likewise, if some time in the future it happens that he works in an environment where there is no way to measure his performance, no way to compare it to others, he will still feel as frustrated as he now does playing T-ball where, because of tournament rules, every game must end in a tie. ("What was the score, Dad? Fifteen to fifteen? Again?")

Today he races his sister every night down the corridor leading to his bedroom. She darts, he chases. Stimulus/response. Twenty years from now, when you walk down a corridor with Jack, he will still be subliminally aware of being just a couple of inches ahead of you. In fact if you were to gradually increase your pace, you might actually be able to get him to break into a run.

Jack's challenge as an adult will not be to put aside this competitiveness and replace it with a more "mature" trait, such as collegiality or team spirit. Instead, his challenge will be to find a productive way to channel this need to win. I hope, as he grows, that he finds ways to focus his competitiveness. I hope he learns to seek out situations in which he can win. And I hope he stops crying when he loses.

But I don't expect he will ever lose his craving to win. I don't expect he will ever learn to be a good loser. Of course, as a parent, I hope that he will learn to be a gracious loser, someone who can be polite in defeat. But Jack is today, and will always be, one of those people who thinks to himself, "You show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser."

Clearly, I am not suggesting he will experience no change as he grows. His dreams will change. His skills will change. His achievements will change. His circumstances will change, and along with them, I'm sure, his values will change. But the core of him, the most dominant aspects of his personality, will remain the same.

So will yours. And that's OK. That's as it should be. As you grow, your goal should not be to transform yourself, to somehow conjure new forces from within you. Instead, your goal should be to free up and focus the forces already there.

- Page 45-49 of the book, Go Put Your Strengths To Work by Marcus Buckingham. Copyright © 2007 by One Thing Productions, Inc. All rights reserved.

(Bruce's awesome, strengths-based post continues below...)