It’s easy to explode when you think “success” defines you
How our identities as frisbee players can explain our meltdowns
A note of context: I played ultimate competitively for a long time, and this newsletter began as an effort to examine life through the lens of the sport.
It’s not uncommon for ultimate players, especially men, to get violent once they become angry. This might look like screaming at an opponent or one’s own self, kicking or hitting something, or bottling up and suppressing the feeling to the point that the tension is electric.
This is not a phenomenon that is unique to ultimate. Aggression is among the very few socially acceptable ways for men to deal with the anger they’re feeling (the other big one being shutting down completely, which is also an act of violence, just of a different variety).
Why is lashing out such an instinctive move for so many of us? For me, a big part of the answer is rooted in not feeling good enough and striving to measure up. In ultimate and beyond, I’ve found that one of the reasons I have chosen violence—why it’s so often the path of least resistance—is that when I perceive my sense of self to be in danger, it’s a very logical choice.
We sometimes think “good at _____” is who we are
When I found ultimate, I spent as much time as I could (and then some) throwing, working out, and reading about the game. Moving into adulthood, I joined club teams, wrote commentary on other teams and tournaments, and started coaching—first kids and then other adults. I took and turned down jobs based on how they’d affect my ability to play, and I arranged family visits around my seasons.
I didn’t just love frisbee. I felt that frisbee was who I was.
Of course, it wasn’t just playing frisbee that I identified with; it was being successful. I saw winning and losing as indicators of my value as a human. If things went well, I had proven my goodness. If they didn’t, I had not.
That viewpoint constantly pushes us to the brink
This mindset, which I didn’t choose consciously but arrived at it nonetheless, made the stakes incredibly high. Suddenly, getting beat to the cone or being picked last weren’t just unpleasant happenings. They were negative referendums on who I was.
Love and acceptance are among our most fundamental needs. Frisbee might be just a game in some respects, but just like anything else, it can also be an activity with outcomes that speak directly to our basic mammalian instincts. I’ve found that when I buy into a given identity as the reason I deserve to belong—it could be being a dominant athlete, or a good employee or student, or a person who votes for the right political party—the prospect of being anything other than that identity feels catastrophic.
It’s really easy to snap when you’re walking around in this kind of pressure cooker. With so much on the line, what’s a screaming match with a teammate or destroying a disc, or a whole bag of them? What’s a meltdown, or a few hateful words? Efforts to fend off failure, or reactions to it, are always justified and appropriate; we fight existential threats at all costs.
Personally, it’s usually more about the specter of failure than a specific setback. While I was certainly a player who struggled to move past mistakes, my most rageful outbursts weren’t about dropped discs or lost games. They came from a deeper fear that some kind of bigger and more permanent judgement was lurking around the corner, and a subconscious belief that aggression—striking first, going on offense— would keep it at bay.
Maybe it isn’t even frisbee, per se. Maybe it’s having the upper hand or being seen as cool or good or smart or in better shape than other people. Maybe it’s something simple, from “real life.” Recently, I caught myself feeling a quick flash of anger at Katharine when she opened the door before I had one of our dogs on the leash. I realized later that at the source of the harsh words I almost said was my concern that if Spartacus ran out and the neighbors saw, they would think poorly of me.
Whatever the specifics, if self esteem is dependent on something external, the prospect of that thing not working out is really scary. Being defensive and aggressive makes sense in the face of that fear because these are ways in which we humans deal with threats.
The solution? Love ourselves
Lashing out is not the only way that people proceed after falling into the trap of believing their worth is at stake. Similarly, it wouldn’t be fair to attribute all instances of aggression to the aggressor’s self doubt.
That said, I don’t think it’s particularly hard to spot the dynamic I’ve described. On the field or off, take a look the next time you see someone really boiling over. Better yet, step back and evaluate when you’re the one doing it.
If we knew ourselves as unquestionably valuable—if we knew in our hearts that we have nothing to demonstrate or defend because the identities we’ve taken on have no bearing on how deserving we are of love—would it be so easy to blow up in the face of failure, challenge, or discomfort?
I have a very hard time believing that it would. When I really touch and accept my own self worth, perspective and levity are abundant.
Of course, believing in our inherent goodness is not always easy. I think of it like looking through a foggy window: there’s something true out there, and it’s a matter of seeing it rather than finding or creating it. Wiping the window off has to do with my current relationship with shame, my concept of value, and my awareness of whatever it is in my life that’s sending the message that self worth is something I need to earn.
I’m still working on it. But seeing myself as worthy just because I am—just because I’m a part of this life—has brought what feels like deeper and more solid fulfillment. When I’m in touch with that reality, I have nothing to prove.
Enjoy reading along? I think you’d enjoy writing together, too.
Each week, I host space for expressive writing and courageous sharing. I’d love to have you join!
Writing in community is beneficial in all kinds of ways. Here are a few:
It gives us space to process thoughts and emotions
It reminds us that our experiences and perspectives are valuable
It invites us to release shame and our efforts to measure up
It expands our reservoir of compassion (toward others and ourselves)
It unlocks creativity, imagination, and authenticity
How it works
During our sessions, I kick things off with a prompt (which you can feel free to ignore). Everyone has some time to reflect and write, and then we share our writing. I offer some strength-based feedback after each sharing—what resonated, the feelings the writing elicited, what threads the writer might continue to pull at, etc.—and then we repeat.
There’s no critique, and it’s not really about improving our writing skills (though that does happen naturally). The point is gathering in a space where we can be intentional about touching and reflecting on what’s real for us.
When, where, etc.
Right now, I’m hosting drop-ins (via Zoom) at three times:
Wednesday, 6-8pm EST
Fridays, 1-3pm EST
Sundays, 3:30-5:30 EST
You don’t need to commit to coming regularly or more than once; joining when it works for you is totally fine. All you need to do is fill out this form:
What attendees think
Jonathan created an inviting, creative, and comfortable space to share and explore. It was surprising where the free writes went, as everyone followed different threads and went to unique places. That said, the undercurrent was that of challenges, thoughts, concerns, and beliefs that the whole group could relate to. Jonathan set the scene and provided structure, but was never overbearing or demanding. This format was energy and life giving, as opposed to something that felt draining or difficult. - Jeff, Idaho
I came in here not really feeling sure about what this was going to be like, and what might get said or shared. I would say that I surprised myself, and that everyone surprised me, with the depth of self-reflection and eloquence in their words. It felt special getting to hear folks' inner monologue like that. The prompts were also very simple, but they led to writing that felt very real and relatable. - Andrew, New York
Help me spread the word
The whole point of this newsletter is to share my experiences in a way that might resonate with others. If you’re feeling what’s here, I’d love to hear from you.
Beyond that, I’d really appreciate a hand in boosting the signal.
You might consider passing a link and some encouragement to subscribe along to a friend or your team’s Slack/GroupMe/listserv. You could share the same on social media. You could tell someone who you think might be interested in the writing groups. Or something else might feel right! Whatever the case, I appreciate the conversations and the love.
Have a wonderful week,
Jonathan