I’ve come across two types of people who say, erroneously, that they're not competitive.

The first are men who are kings of their respective hills.

The second are women who have misplaced their moxie.

A few months ago I talked with a male Yale graduate student who has received national attention for his art. "We’re not competitive at Yale!" he said.

I looked at him.


"Well, *I’m* not competitive," he said.

"You’re not competitive?"

"No! I believe that when someone succeeds it inspires others to do their best, too!"

"Then you’re competitive in a healthy way!"

"Okay," he growled. "You’re right. I’m competitive. I’m *very* competitive. I’ll come back every day for another semantics lesson."

But of course he didn’t, intimidated by my superior brain.

This *is* a semantics question, I suppose, but semantics are important. Words influence how we see ourselves. When I was a pimply kid other kids called me ‘ugly,’ and I carried that word as a talisman. Even at thirty-two, with relatively clear skin, I still sometimes use that word to keep myself from risking. "Why bother?’ I tell friends after I’ve bolted from someone I’m attracted to. "I’m ugly." My friends roll their eyes. They themselves sometimes use words to protect themselves in their social lives and careers, claiming they’re "stupid," or "flaky," or other non-applicable terms that give them the go-ahead to wimp out. "Non-competitive" is one of those terms.

Two of my high school friends used to compete for acting roles, men, and my friendship. After graduation, M. temporarily became a stripper; and J. became an editor. Both wish to be writers, although neither tries as hard as she could. Both say they’re "not competitive people." When I recently mentioned J. to M., M. said, "I always thought J. hated me."

"No," I said, "you were just competitive with each other."

"*I’m not competitive!" she said.

I looked at her.

She sputtered, "I’m not!"

"Right," I said. "You’re not competitive. When you and J. auditioned for *The Diary of Anne Frank,* you came to the audition *dressed* as Anne. You’re not competitive. You were valedictorian in college, but you’re not competitive. Nope! And when you were stripping, you were the best in the club."

She gasped. "How did you know?"

"Because you’re so competitive!"

It’s difficult to push ourselves. Competition, when it’s used in healthy, sportswoman-like ways, can be a motivational tool. When it’s used dishonestly, however, competition alienates us from friends. Because it asks us to measure ourselves against others, it can make us insecure. Sometimes we say we’re "not competitive" because we don’t want to acknowledge that other people might be better.

Competition is also still seen as unfeminine. Even though healthily competitive relationships are sexy,
many men feel intimidated by competitive women. A recent *New York Times* article about the "opt-out generation" talks of women who forgo high-powered careers in favor of families. The article intimates that women simply aren’t as competitive as men.

Yet women who claim they’re "not competitive" Put their relationships at risk.

I know this because I've seen friends use their husbands and children as talismans against fulfilling their competitive dreams of writing, art, sports, law, computer science, medicine, whatever it is they love and define themselves by. They often become desperately unhappy as a result. I’m a divorced woman who did this myself.

I hope to never undermine myself again.

I wish the "non-competitive" male Yale graduate student continued success. His triumphs inspire me. Although he’s got a semantics problem, I’m not worried. Hopefully his girlfriend will keep him from lying to himself. She will encourage him to fulfill his vast potential. If he’s worth her time, he’ll do the same for her. This is what men and women in love are supposed to do, but still don’t always do enough.

Because this is also what friends are supposed to do, I end with a note to M. and J. and other
"non-competitive" women:

Stop acting wimpy.

I myself will make it as a writer someday. I’m good. I might even be better than you are in your own field.

Are you annoyed?

Do you think you can do better than me?

You’d *better* think this. The world needs your work.

Re-join the race.

Tanya Angell Allen is an essayist whose work has appeared in such places as *Chicklit.com*, *The Expansive Poetry and Music Online Report*, and *The New York Times.* She claims to have more staggering genius than Dave Eggers, and hopes to
someday take down Zadie Smith.