I had this friend, we’ll call him Forrest, and at one point in his wildly fascinating life he took up running. He ran all over the country, who knows how many miles over the span of a couple years, until one day he just said, “I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll go home now.”
So that’s what he did.
I’ve been wondering about exhaustion lately. Both mine and yours and I’m curious about the source. So, with this post, I’d like to share a hunch…
It’s the rivalry.
The frenetic energy of rivalry that pervades society and so many relationships is exhausting. It’s as American as baseball. Growing up, at least in my mind, it was Magic vs. Bird, US vs. Russia, Skywalker vs. Vader, Republican vs. Democrat. And if you grew up in the belly of evangelicalism, rivalry was cast as the Sky God vs. the subterranean Satan.
I’m tired of this addiction to zero-sum competition that we just can’t seem to outgrow.
The rivalry you feel begins with a foundational assumption of scarcity - provisions are limited, and your flourishing is a threat to mine. It’s feral. It’s primal. An ancient cancer in our habitual way of thinking.
The Judeo-Christian story tried to illuminate this again and again.
Cain kills Abel.
Esau hunts Jacob.
Jacob weds rival sisters, Rachel and Leah.
Joseph’s brothers sell him into slavery.
Generation after generation, this pattern repeats itself.
We believe we need an enemy. It’s the hidden addiction we refuse to name. Enemies charge me up like electricity. The hatred fuels the adrenals, makes me feel something, and lets me project my sadness and deficiencies onto someone else.
It really does distort everything.
Whether consciously or not, Trumpism is constantly pouring these toxins into the main water source. For him and his ilk, truth is irrelevant, only winning, dominating the competition… coming out on top is all that matters. Cultures of rivalry reward self-righteousness and punish humility, calling it soft and weak. They baptize superiority and demonize nuance, collaboration, and win/win compromise.
Rivalry thrives when competition is valued over kinship.
Father Greg Boyle says of gang members, “A healed gang member doesn’t go back to that life.” Throughout his relationships with thousands of gang members, he cannot recall one transformed and healed individual who has returned to the system. The same could be said of any healed human. Once we taste true wholeness, the compulsion for rivalry dissolves.
When I’m listening well — to God, to myself, to my neighbor — my hunger for rivalry gracefully dissipates. When I remember the real enemy isn’t “out there” but in the unhealed shadow within, my need to compete quietly fades.
That work in the shadows of the self is so much harder, and slower, and more humiliating than fighting some external nemesis. Contrary to the defensive apologetics we were fed in evangelicalism, faith was never about preparing for battle against “them.” I have always been my own worst enemy.
Kingdoms and empires run on those exhausting win/lose metrics while kin-doms are built on win/win relationships, exchanging the divine currency of cherished belonging. This mutuality over meritocracy, this vision of abundance rather than scarcity, is a way of being which requires a whole new head.
Maybe this reflection is just the grace that comes from my late forties — seeing just how much of my life has been arranged around being right, respected, and in control. I think most of it has been hidden from me, but now, I see it as one of the primary sources of my exhaustion.
Already today, you’ve likely consumed too much media saturated with rivalry. It’s in our neighborhoods, our work, even in the playful exchanges with your closest partners and friends.
I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll go home now.
My friend, Forrest, was on to something. That rest and that healing we’ve so longed for starts now, in here, at home.
Yes. And it’s the only way capitalism works.