
Dear James: I Want to Be a Better Loser
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Dear James,
I've been a lifelong participant in various recreational sports. Candidly, I'm not a great athlete, but I've always been enthusiastic. Now, in my late 50s, I've gotten especially serious about tennis. Sometimes, I play five times a week. I've committed to improving and have taken group and individual lessons. I play in competitive United States Tennis Association leagues specific to my age and ability, and play pickup games whenever I can.
But I realize that when I play competitively, I have a negative, lingering, outsize reaction to losing. When I lose, I try to reframe it less as a defeat and more as What did I learn today? Yet my mind leads me back to despair and rumination on my mistakes.
Logically, I know that if I were to win these competitions, I would most likely be bumped up to the next level. And at that point, I would probably be the weakest player in a higher level of competition—leading right back, with even more frequency, to despair. Some athletes joyfully stick with their sports for a lifetime and don't seem to be derailed by losing. What am I missing? How can I develop a healthier relationship to defeat?
Dear Reader,
I don't think you're missing anything. We all lose in the end—that's the second law of thermodynamics. And every intervening loss, be it in business, love, or tennis, simply reminds us of this elemental fact. Is it even possible to have a healthy relationship with losing? I'm not sure it is, any more than it's possible to have a healthy relationship with food poisoning. Certain human experiences simply resist philosophy.
My grandfather, who had an ego like a piece of Roman statuary, enjoyed a game of chess. Especially in his final years: late-night, booze-fueled and booze-fuddled, with the occasional, accidental knocking-over of pieces. He enjoyed it—if he won. If he didn't win, he would take it as a melancholy comment on his old age, as evidence that his mind was going at last. And then he would slump, and brood loudly upon his failing faculties. So, as his opponent, you had to lose. But you couldn't lose too easily or obviously; fuzzy as he was, he would pick up on that. You had to lose while looking as if you were trying to win. (It often fell to my brother, a teenager at the time and—luckily for my grandfather—an excellent chess player, to perform this complex operation.)
What's my point? Good question. I think my point is that losing is never just losing. In your case, losing at tennis connects to what? An ever-present and not particularly welcome sense of your limitations as a player? A whisper of advancing decrepitude? Some other, deeper, darker thing? When I lose, I feel like the cosmos is against me. And I'm right.
So forget about being a good loser. Work on the comeback: That's my advice. Doomed as we may be to entropy, we humans also possess nearly idiotic capacities for self-renewal. We bounce back! Soak up the gall of losing, absorb the horrible information, feel it to the full, go there—and then rebound, with superb elasticity. Save your energy for that.

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Atlantic
7 days ago
- Atlantic
Dear James: I Want to Be a Better Loser
Editor's Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers' questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at [email protected]. Don't want to miss a single column? Sign up to get 'Dear James' in your inbox. Dear James, I've been a lifelong participant in various recreational sports. Candidly, I'm not a great athlete, but I've always been enthusiastic. Now, in my late 50s, I've gotten especially serious about tennis. Sometimes, I play five times a week. I've committed to improving and have taken group and individual lessons. I play in competitive United States Tennis Association leagues specific to my age and ability, and play pickup games whenever I can. But I realize that when I play competitively, I have a negative, lingering, outsize reaction to losing. When I lose, I try to reframe it less as a defeat and more as What did I learn today? Yet my mind leads me back to despair and rumination on my mistakes. Logically, I know that if I were to win these competitions, I would most likely be bumped up to the next level. And at that point, I would probably be the weakest player in a higher level of competition—leading right back, with even more frequency, to despair. Some athletes joyfully stick with their sports for a lifetime and don't seem to be derailed by losing. What am I missing? How can I develop a healthier relationship to defeat? Dear Reader, I don't think you're missing anything. We all lose in the end—that's the second law of thermodynamics. And every intervening loss, be it in business, love, or tennis, simply reminds us of this elemental fact. Is it even possible to have a healthy relationship with losing? I'm not sure it is, any more than it's possible to have a healthy relationship with food poisoning. Certain human experiences simply resist philosophy. My grandfather, who had an ego like a piece of Roman statuary, enjoyed a game of chess. Especially in his final years: late-night, booze-fueled and booze-fuddled, with the occasional, accidental knocking-over of pieces. He enjoyed it—if he won. If he didn't win, he would take it as a melancholy comment on his old age, as evidence that his mind was going at last. And then he would slump, and brood loudly upon his failing faculties. So, as his opponent, you had to lose. But you couldn't lose too easily or obviously; fuzzy as he was, he would pick up on that. You had to lose while looking as if you were trying to win. (It often fell to my brother, a teenager at the time and—luckily for my grandfather—an excellent chess player, to perform this complex operation.) What's my point? Good question. I think my point is that losing is never just losing. In your case, losing at tennis connects to what? An ever-present and not particularly welcome sense of your limitations as a player? A whisper of advancing decrepitude? Some other, deeper, darker thing? When I lose, I feel like the cosmos is against me. And I'm right. So forget about being a good loser. Work on the comeback: That's my advice. Doomed as we may be to entropy, we humans also possess nearly idiotic capacities for self-renewal. We bounce back! Soak up the gall of losing, absorb the horrible information, feel it to the full, go there—and then rebound, with superb elasticity. Save your energy for that.
Yahoo
21-07-2025
- Yahoo
A potted history of fermented foods – from pickles to kimchi
Are you a pro at pickling? How about baking sourdough bread or brewing your own kombucha? If the answer is yes, you've probably picked up on one of the recent trends promoting fermented foods, which promise to boost your gut health and save both you and the planet from the scourge of food waste. For the uninitiated, fermented foods include anything that uses bacteria to break down organic matter into a new product. Look around an ordinary kitchen and you'll almost certainly find something fermented: yoghurt (milk), beer and wine (grain/fruit) or vinegar (alcohol). Not all of these will give you the promised health boost, however, which comes from 'live' ferments containing probiotic microbes, usually lactic acid bacteria. In alcohol and vinegar the fermenting bacteria die during the process. The health benefits of fermented foods are widely promoted. Some advocates, like epidemiologist Tim Spector, suggest the gut microbiome is the key to our health, while others are more cautious: in essence, although kefir is certainly good for your gut, it isn't a cure-all. Still, the research is ongoing and diversifying: one study has even suggested that probiotics could fight the less pleasant recent phenomenon of microplastics in our stomachs. The future of fermented foods is definitely something to keep an eye on, but equally interesting is their long past and the different fermented food fashions we see over time. Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here. People have been fermenting food since before the written word. Thanks to archaeological discoveries, we know that 13,000 years ago ancient Natufian culture in the Levant was fermenting grain into beer and that around the globe in Jiahu, Northern China, 9,000 years ago, a mixture of rice, honey and fruit was fermented to make early 'wines'. In fact, most cultures have at some point in their history fermented plants into alcohol, from agave pulque in Mesoamerica to gum-tree way-a-linah in Australia. As to preserving food, archaeologists have found that nearly 10,000 years ago fish was fermented by the Mesolithic inhabitants of Sweden. Today nam pla (fish sauce made from fermented anchovies) is very popular, but fermented fish sauces were a major commodity in the ancient world, including the garum of the Romans. This was made from the blood and guts of mackerel, salt-fermented for two months. Although it might not sound very appealing, garum was an expensive condiment for the Roman nobility and was shipped all the way from Spain to Britain. Garum eventually lost its popularity in Europe during the Middle Ages, but fermented fish made a comeback in the 18th century. In Asia fish sauces had continued strong, and colonialism brought the south Asian fish sauce kê-chiap to Europe, alongside soy sauce (fermented soybeans). Salt-fermenting oysters and anchovies in this style became popular in England and North America, and people eventually branched out to preserving tomatoes – giving us modern ketchup. Cabbage cultures No discussion of fermentation would be complete without pickled vegetables. Today, the most talked-about fermented vegetable is the cabbage, in the form of kimchi and sauerkraut, thanks to its strong probiotic and vitamin C content. The historical origins of these dishes are unclear. Online articles might tell you that pickled cabbage was first eaten by the builders of the Great Wall of China 2,000 years ago and brought to Europe in Genghis Khan's saddlebags. These kinds of apocryphal stories should be taken with more than a grain of salt. So should the apparent connection to Roman author Pliny the Elder, who made no mention of 'salt cabbage' anywhere in his works. While the Greeks and Romans loved cabbage and considered it a cure for many illnesses, they almost always boiled it, which would kill the lactobacillus. Still, as Jan Davison, author of Pickles: A Global History, writes, literary evidence suggests that salt pickling in general does have a long precedence. Pickled gourds were eaten in Zhou dynasty China around 3,000 years ago. It's hard to say when sauerkraut became a common dish, but the term was in use by the 16th century and was associated with Germany by the 17th. As to Korean kimchi, research suggests this style of preservation was practised by the 13th century, only using turnips rather than cabbage. The popularity of radish and cabbage kimchi only came about in the 16th century, alongside the use of chilli peppers. Now an iconic aspect of this bright-red dish, peppers were not part of 'Old World' diets before the Columbian exchange. History reveals our long relationship with fermented food. Our pickling ancestors were more interested in food preservation than in their bacterial microbiome – a very modern concept. Looking to past practices might even help us innovate fermentation technologies, as recent research from the Vrije Universiteit Brussels shows. I'm not sure about bringing back fermented fish guts, but more pickled turnips doesn't sound half bad. This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something from The Conversation UK may earn a commission. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article. Serin Quinn does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.


CNBC
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- CNBC
Goldman says this newly public obesity play can surge nearly 60%
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