We live by stories. They shape our daily practices and decisions. But they also communicate something of what we believe makes life valuable, even what make us valuable.
For Christians, our most important stories that tell us of our purpose and profess our worth are found in the Bible. We start with the very first stories of Genesis which tell us of a God who creates all things and finds all things good, including humans, who are very good. In multiple narratives, God’s deep care for and valuing of God’s creation is echoed. But the Bible is also full of other stories recounting how we humans are reluctant to believe in our deep worth and God’s care. Instead of trusting that, like Eve we are easily persuaded to think that if we only do something, possess something, eat something, we will be made valuable. We have a hard time believing – or at least remembering – that we are made worthy. So for millennia Christian believers have needed to repeat the stories that remind us who we are, whose we are, and that we are deeply worthy already. They tell us that our worth and security are not for something that we have done, but for what God has done in and for us.
Yet in our world there are many compelling stories that tell us otherwise. They seem so true because everyone is repeating them. It takes time and maturity to recognize which stories to believe. As adults we can choose more consciously. However, adolescents and even young adults are only coming to recognize the stories that surround them. They are not choosing their stories; the stories are already functioning in their world. Their task is to figure out those stories and live into them. In doing so they also learn their worth implied in those stories; they are given purpose and direction.
One particularly prevalent story which a young person hears in all sorts of settings today is: “If you don’t improve you don’t advance.” This has been heard by many North American youth from their earliest years. They have heard it on the soccer field, in piano lessons, in the karate dojo, at hockey practice, Irish step dancing, as well as the schoolroom. Activities entered into because they were fun, or to develop interests, or because the other kids were doing it, quickly become investments of family time, energy, and money. Over the course of a few years, an activity that was once recreational becomes something akin to a job, requiring ever greater investments if the young person wishes to continue. Thus intentionally or unintentionally, the central or dominant narrative functioning in many young people lives is competition, in which their worth is found in their ability to perform, present, and advance. Regardless of what adults may intend, this measurement of their worth is what many adolescents interpret.1 Some young people respond to this message by engaging whole heartedly, quick to please others and seek validation. Others respond by disengaging; they would rather not try than try and not succeed. They may hole up in other venues – like online gaming – where no adult is keeping score and games are still played for fun.
As these young people enter their teen years the refrain becomes more frequent and serious. Since their social connections are made in competitive environments – the classroom, the team, or the recital studio – the consequences of not improving and not advancing can be loss of these social connections. “If you don’t improve, you don’t advance; if you don’t advance, you can’t stay on the team/club/class.” The story’s message is clear: perform better to stay connected. Furthermore, by the time they are in their teens, it is difficult to move laterally from one activity group to a new one simply because that group has been together since grade school and its members have already invested years in that activity and those connections.
The drive to perform and compete is amplified in the platform of social media, where each curates their best selves for the approval and attention of others.2 However, their latest and greatest post is almost immediately pushed down the feed by that of someone else.
For those who thrive in this story, competition touches more and more areas of life. Recreation, education, friends, family life, and even service experiences become opportunities to perform and build resumes. Similarly, their social connections can become competitive as they fight with their peers for coveted spots and attention. Furthermore, the competition takes on economic implications, as the story moves on to tell us, “the best grades and the best performance, lead to the best applications, which lead to scholarships, which lead to the best universities, which lead to the best jobs.” All of which, the story goes, leads to a compelling promise of worth and security.
We live by stories. They shape our sense of purpose and worth. Today many older adolescents have been well trained into a story that says your worth is found in your performance value. At the same time, they wish someone would love them just as they are. As they spend more and more time in spaces of constant performance and competition, they sharpen those skills. We get good at what we practice and we don’t get good at what we don’t practice. Unfortunately, the skills of competition can be directly opposed to the skills of friendship, like vulnerability, intimacy, authenticity, trust, or reconciliation.
In the past few years there has been increasing concern in high schools and college campuses – particularly elite schools – for what is being called fragility or a lack of resilience. Professionals serving those populations note the inability of many young people to cope with what seem like minor disappointments, such as poor grades or fights with friends. These situations are resulting in student’s high anxiety and in the most extreme cases, suicide. Appropriately schools are looking for ways to respond, and there is great debate as to the causes.3 I suggest in part it might be due to the stories we have been telling these young people for years. They have been the stories we have encouraged them to live by, the stories that have framed their sense of worth and purpose.
While there may be goods found in competition, as the primary narrative of life’s purpose and direction, it is a dead end. It is unforgiving of failure and posits that our worth is provisionally determined. It encourages insularity, for we fear letting anyone know of our vulnerability or see how desperate we are to be loved as is. As the dominant story, competition can leave us too exhausted to keep up the unending effort to succeed. For competition begets competition; it is never finished.
We need to tell other stories, such as those Jesus offers when he calls:
Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. (Matt 11: 28-30, NAB)
Since we hear the story of competition in so many ways in so many places, it is hard not to believe that it is true, that is how the world works. However, as Christians we profess that the world works otherwise; it works best through love, justice, and care. It takes discipline, care, and community to maintain that faith in the face of stories that say otherwise. While competition may be one story, take care that it is not the only story, or the strongest story that shapes the world of the young. For their own lives depend on hearing and believing otherwise.
Theresa A. O’Keefe is an Associate Professor of the Practice of Youth and Young Adult Faith at the Boston College School of Theology and Ministry
1 Chap Clark, Hurt 2.0: Inside the world of today’s teenager (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2011).
2 Sherry Turkle, Alone Together: Why we expect more from technology and less from each other (New York: Basic Books, 2011).
3 Richard Kadison and Theresa Foy DiGeronimo, College of the Overwhelmed: The campus mental health crisis and what to do about it (San Franscico: Jossey-Bass, 2004).
PHOTO CREDIT: Courtesy of Office of University Communications.