We’re obsessed with winning. Promotions, profits, gold medals, all the money, the hottest partner, the war with your ex. Zero mistakes. Zero losses. Somewhere along the way, we also decided that success looks like a clean staircase going up. No detours. No bruises. Which is really fascinating, because in reality, nothing has ever worked like that, and yet we still do not understand that we are trapped in this misconception. Success – and life – isn’t a straight line upward. It is governed by cycles. And you determine whether the next loop goes up or down.
Where some call a painful downward loop “necessary sacrifice,” others need therapy for a fraction of the same pain. Why is that?
But first, before digging deeper, let’s get one thing clear: This essay is not about glorifying failure or petting your ego. It’s about correcting a fatal misunderstanding. This small but important piece explores why an unhealthy relationship with loss often causes more damage than loss itself – and why true high performers aren’t the relentless winners or the big King Kongs, but the ones who know how to accept loss, adapt, and keep moving. Those will earn the title: Best Loser.
Ok, I get it. Losing often hurts – not because it’s wrong, but because it stretches something that hasn’t been stretched before. But thinking the world falls apart because of it is like calling leg day a “mobility failure” because you can’t walk properly afterwards. Watch elite athletes, top entrepreneurs, or people who are quietly very hard to break. You’ll notice something: they don’t talk much about winning. Or about applause. Isn’t that funny?
But the real comedy starts when we label everything that doesn’t look like instant victory a setback.
Read that again. Set. Back.
As if life just grabbed you by the collar and literally hurled you behind your starting point and erased your progress with a giant eraser.
Seriously?
That single word explains why so many people burn out, quit early, or spiral during perfectly normal learning curves. Now, Logic walks in, looks around completely confused, and says: “Ehhm… Being set “back” by experience – That doesn’t actually make sense.” Because a setback isn’t something that just happens!!
It’s a choice – something we tell ourselves, while missing that it’s part of the process.
You tried. You learned. You risked something, and now you’re beating yourself like a demon-possessed motivational speaker with a stick, chanting “Not enough.” How bizarre!
Take money and career. This is where losing suddenly can become a full-blown identity crisis.
In trading, professionals call it tuition. Amateurs call it the end of the world. The seasoned trader looks at -10,000 and thinks: “Dang that hurts, but where exactly did my model break?” The novice looks at the same number and calls their therapist, accountant, and probably their ex – in that order – just to make sure everyone agrees that the market has a personal vendetta against them.
Here’s the brutal difference:
High performers learn from losses.
Low performers identify with them.
Same chart. Different mindset. Losing in that regard and calling it the end is like burning your laptop because Excel froze for 3 seconds.“ Sure, I get it, maybe your bank account actually stares at you with trembling lips and teary eyes whispering, “W-w-what are you talking about… I am dead, my friend!” But that’s exactly how ego behaves when it feels neglected – dramatic and deeply offended. But loss is not punishment. Loss is progress with a price tag. Ever thought about how much money you – or your parents – invested while studying? Why do we assume learning suddenly becomes free after university? It doesn’t! Only the material changes.
A failed idea is proof that you tested something real. Most ideas actually look ridiculous before they work. The first iPhone prototype, Project Purple, was basically a clicking box. Steve Jobs insisted on removing the keyboard. Everyone said, “That won’t work.” He asked, “What if we build one button that does everything?”. Result, after some major hurdles: iPhone.
Ray Dalio publicly announced a wrong prediction on TV, by his own words, full of arrogance. He lost nearly everything, struggled badly, dissected his mistakes, and turned them into the now-famous Principles, which later became Bridgewater, one of the world’s largest hedge funds. When life hands you lemons – build a system.
And my favorite – digest that: Disney was rejected for a “lack of imagination”. Congratulations. The Worst-Prediction-in-History-Award.
Failing is research.
Failure is protecting an untested idea.
The difference is stability in the face of loss. Stamina.
Colonel Sanders traveled across the U.S. with a chicken recipe. Restaurant number 1,010 said yes. At 65, he founded KFC. Professionals ask: “How do I make this work?” That’s how you create reality where others fail – or worse, create drama.
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But if that was not enough, where is our obsession with winning even more obvious – and more misleading – than in sports? We literally have a pitch-perfect picture for it. Medals. Podiums. Slow-motion tears. Victory speeches thanking your mom, your coach, and also Uncle Ted for driving you to prom night back then.
But watch elite athletes closely, and you’ll notice something strange: They rarely obsess about winning. Instead, they obsess over excellence. Execution. Process. Precision. The only thing they really fear is being unprepared. You’d expect them to be the poster children of “winning at all costs.” Surprise: they’re actually the best losers you’ll ever meet. They face an uncomfortable reality:
“What needs to be true for me to perform at my best – even if I fail publicly doing it?”
Take Michael Jordan. Yes, he won. A lot. But what made him dangerous wasn’t the winning – it was his obsessive relationship with his own shortcomings. “I’ve missed more than 9,000 shots. Lost almost 300 games. 26 times trusted to make the winning shot… and missed. That’s why I succeed.”
Or take high-jump athlete Dick Fosbury. Everyone jumped over the bar. He turned around and jumped backwards. They said, he’s going nuts. He won Olympic gold. Now the technique is called the Fosbury Flop.
Funny how innovation often looks like failure right before it wins. An Olympic gymnast doesn’t call a bad landing a setback. They call it data for tomorrow’s upgraded landing. The best performer is the one who falls so elegantly that the floor wonders if it was intentional.
And pain? That so-called enemy?
Ignore it, and it snaps your neck.
Listen to it, and it hands you a map.
Pain is a whisper saying: “Look closer. Something in your process needs attention.” Athletes who succeed long-term don’t file divorce papers for the treadmill. They ask: “Where exactly did I leak energy?”
A high performer thinks in iterations.
A wannabe thinks in identity labels.
So why is this way of thinking so hard? Because nobody trains us for it.
Nowadays, we’re raised on applause. Grades. Gold stars. Likes.
“Did you win?” “Were you the best?” “Did your strategy work?”
We’re not bad at losing. We’re just deeply conditioned to misunderstand what it is. So, write this on your forehead:
Losing is not the opposite of winning.
It’s the entry ticket.
A Best Loser refines defeat into accuracy. They don’t hold a funeral for the broken prototype – they grab duct tape and ask, “Does it still fly if I run?” Thomas Edison said it best: “I didn’t fail. I just found 1,000 ways not to build a light bulb.” That’s the ultimate mindset!
Which is why real champions often look… boring. Same drills. Same routines. Same annoying consistency – a thousand times. And before you realize it – ironically – this is exactly how the most professional losers win.
Don’t aim to win. Aim to understand.
Don’t fear losing. Fear staying the same.
Get so good at using the fall that people think you never hit the ground. And maybe – just maybe – losing isn’t the real problem. Maybe it’s what we do with it.
Unlike the other essays, this one can’t end here.
Because if losing already hurts this much in money and medals,
imagine what happens when we apply the same broken logic to love, identity, and self-worth.
That’s where things get really messy.
And that’s where we’re going next.
Best Loser – Part II.
