Playing the Long Game: Competing with Myself, Not Others

by Angela Sanford

   When most people hear the word competition, they picture a race—two athletes sprinting neck-and-neck, or opponents locked in a tense final. But for me, the most meaningful competition isn’t about proving myself against someone else. It’s about stepping onto the course, into the classroom, or even into my daily life and asking, Can I be better than I was yesterday?

   Take golf, for example. The course feels like both an opponent and a companion, quietly challenging me to pay attention. For me,  the game is never about beating someone else, but about reaching my own goals.

   I’m under no illusion that I’ll ever qualify for the LPGA Tour. That was never the dream. What keeps me returning to the course isn’t the lure of trophies or titles—it’s the quiet, almost stubborn challenge of improvement – and, of course, the actual companionship of the partners to share in the facing the challenge of the course.

   And every round is its own story. 

   Some days, my swing feels fluid, my drives straight, and yet the scorecard doesn’t reflect that. Other times, the numbers look respectable, but I know the shots were sloppy and frustrating. It’s a strange paradox.

 Golf, for me, is a process. Each swing is an invitation: to adjust my grip, to focus more clearly, to adjust for the mistake I made last time and try again. It’s the long game—the cumulative effect of tiny choices that, over time, create something more resilient than perfection: growth.

 And isn’t life a lot like that?

 In my teaching and community work, I don’t measure myself against colleagues and neighbours. My only goal is to be the best I can be and to further my learning to become a stronger version of myself—to make the classroom a better place for my students, to offer encouragement to colleagues, to build community with intention. 

 The “score” may not always reflect the effort, but the growth shows in the small victories: the student who tries again, the teacher who feels supported, the moment when someone feels seen. These are my birdies, my eagles, my rare hole-in-one moments.

 That’s the lesson golf gives me, and the one I try to carry everywhere else: I’m not competing against anyone else’s scorecard. The challenge—the only challenge that really matters—is to be a little stronger, a little wiser, a little more grounded than I was before.

 So whether I’m standing over a golf ball, whiteboard marker in hand at the front of a classroom, or quietly reflecting at the end of the day, my aim is the same: not perfection, not victory over others, but progress. One swing. One lesson. One step forward.

Because in the end, the most rewarding game is the one where the only opponent is yourself—and the only prize is growth.