The Art Of... Losing...

I had been so... So sure... That I would break...


Yet I didn't...

Art has always been one of my interests. I used to draw and color all the time. I've probably made at least 500 stickmen in my time, and tons of pages of cats, dogs, flowers, trees, stars, hearts; it's just made me happy. I loved to draw a lot, and always thought I was good at it...

Until I learned that I wasn't.

I was about six years old when my older brother was kind enough to inform me that my drawings were horrible. Well, naturally, drawing became a little bit less appealing to me after that. But I didn't completely forsake it.

When I was ten years old, my mom decided that it was sad for a fifth grader to still be drawing like a pre schooler, so she took me to an art class. At first I was rather embarrassed to show my teacher my awful "skills." But she seemed to see something in me that no one else had. As I continued the art class, I got better every week. My drawings were looking much better, and more mature, and by the time I started water color, the actual drawing part was a breeze.

The point is, through my two and a half years with the class, I progressed. Because I was being instructed, and I practiced regularly, I just kept getting better and better. None of my paintings are fit for a museum, of course, but they don't still look like they were drawn by a pre schooler. Because I practiced, and because I had help, I just kept getting better.

Well, I've learned the hard way that some talents are harder to grasp.

Through some posts I've made previously, you probably know that I compete in NCFCA Speech and Debate league. "Breaking" basically means "advancing" in NCFCA terms. If I were to say, "I broke to semis," that would mean that I did so well with my speeches that I competed in semifinals.

It would also mean that I'm a liar.

All my life, I've searched for something that could be my hobby. Something that I could answer the question "What do you like to do?" with. I tried basically everything. When my brother and mom came home from watching a speech and debate meeting last year, telling me all about it, I instantly decided that it was going to be my thing. My decision was furthered when I went to the speech camp in August. And by the time I actually started going to club meetings, I was fully assured that this was what I wanted to be my interest; hobby; time-passer.

As the year went on, we prepared our speeches, practiced them, performed them for parents, got tips from our coach, and so on. And somehow, I was so sure that one of my particular speeches (Humorous Interpretation- HI) was going to break. I was virtually positive that I would at least go to semis with it. (I hadn't been so bold as to imagine qualifying for Nationals, but I would at least break, right?) Well, the first tournament came and went without me getting so much as a second place ranking in one of my rooms. I was depressed and humiliated by this, and wasted precious minutes crying over it. The next tournament came... And once again, no break. I did better in my HI at this tournament (The only speech I did do better in), but it still hurt. Finally, the last qualifying tournament of the year was on my doorstep. If I didn't break here, then I wouldn't at all. I knew that I just had to. There was no way I could go through the year, being that "Brenna who never broke." As we were listening to the breaks on Saturday morning, and the HI announcements were being called out, I could hardly breathe. "And finally, from-" Whatever the club was, it wasn't mine. I struggled to blink back my tears. This was my last chance... And it hadn't happened. There was no possible way that I could still break this year.

Once I learned that I hadn't broken, I thought that this would be the worst day of my life. But in reality, it was one of the best. Due to the fact that we had been badly sick that week, my mom headed back to the hotel, leaving my brother and I at the tournament to hang out with our friends one last time this year, and to watch some amazing speeches. (Seriously, you guys are killer.) That weekend (And the weekend before at a debate tournament), I'd been really getting to know one of the girls in my club, and we had a lot of fun hanging out that day, watching some speeches, talking to people from other clubs, and such. I made quite a few new friends that day, and received many ideas for future speeches. The announcements for people breaking to finals came and went with a few people from my club still in the running. I watched a couple speeches that made me laugh, I watched a couple that made me tingle, and I watched one that almost made me fall asleep (Hey, it was a seven minute long speech about boring thing, given to a person on 3 hours of sleep- cut me some slack. ;]) We all had dinner, I played a couple card games with my friends, and snuck some of the chocolate fountain.

The awards ceremony started around 7:30. We all piled into the sanctuary, sitting with our clubs, laughing, chatting, and rooting for those who still had a chance of qualifying for Nationals. I looked down at my feet, knowing that I wouldn't be able to get up on that stage that night. Knowing that all my friends were going to go up and receive their medals and trophies- but I would stay right where I was. Finally, the lady that had been doing most of the talking that tournament (The awesome coach of a northern club in California) stood up. But before the awards were handed out, she said something along the lines of,

"I know there are many of you who didn't break this tournament, and I know it's upsetting. Everyone wants to break, and everyone wants to get up and receive an award tonight. But not all of you can. But there's something that all of you have- that you didn't get because of how the judges ranked you. It's your spiritual trophy. The one that you've gained throughout the year, from the tournament experience, from the friends you've made, from the fun you've had, and from God."

That made me think. All that year, I had been mad with myself for not breaking. Irritated that I didn't have a trophy or medal to show off. Something to clutter my room with. Little did I know, until that moment, that my spiritual trophy was just being polished. I received something that night that no judge could have played a part in. It wasn't my doing; it wasn't anyone else's doing- it was God's doing. He, speaking through the announcer, showed me that the more trophies you get, the more you'll want. But nothing can beat that spiritual trophy that you'll always store in your heart.

As everyone got up on the stage that night, I cheered for them all; friend and stranger alike. Although they were all receiving something that I couldn't have, all of us- every competitor in that room- had a spiritual trophy that no plastic one can ever replace. Whether everyone in there has realized it yet or not, it's in their hearts, and they'll see it soon enough. As I think about the five years I have ahead of me in NCFCA, I imagine the trophies and medals I might receive. But I know that no matter what I have sitting on my shelf, I'd rather throw them all away then give up the spiritual trophy I've received.

Losing is definitely a harder skill to master than drawing. With every piece of artwork you make, it becomes easier. But with every loss you receive, it gets harder. But whether you win, or lose; whether your picture is hung in the Getty museum, or thrown in the trash; you'll always have something that no triumph can every replace.

Your shining, spiritual trophy