We're All Sorts of Greek Tragedies

One of my biggest enemies during my high school diving career was the double front flip. It wasn't that the skill was particularly hard(most of the other divers got it with relative ease), but it was just one of those flips that was mentally demanding. Every time you got on the board, you would look down at the edge, imagining yourself hitting your back or head or some other fragile object of yours. 

Of course, then, you would find the courage to stop thinking and just do. You would run through your hurdle, jump up as high as you possibly could, and you would throw yourself forward in a divine effort to stick the landing. Your surroundings would just turn into rapid colors, and if your face wasn't contorted into a devlish tapestry of panic and adrenaline, one would've thought you were dreaming. 

Right as you were about to go past the one and a half mark(of the flip), suddenly you lose all your energy. The willpower that signed you up for this sport, pushed you to do things you could never do, all ended here. 

So you decided to balk. You opened your arms and legs, and went in on a one and a half flip, clearing the water with a wonderful little splash; a great one-and-a-half. But it still wasn't a double.

I finished the final part of the flip under water, so technically I did a "double", but the catch was that half of it was under water. 

As I exited the pool, my coach looked at me with a frown. I returned it with a smile. I did all I could. 

"HEY, HEY, WHAT WAS THAT?", the head coach yelled from across the pool deck. I was hoping he had left, or was doing some sort of paperwork, anything other than talking to me. I knew he wouldn't let me acquit for my crimes. 

"A front double," I said meekly. No harsh tone, no pride, nothing. There was no escaping the feeling of inadequecy he would unleash upon me.

"Did you really try to do it? Or did you act like you tried?"

"I tried"

"What?"

Well that didn't work, I thought. "I could've done better."

That seemed to invigorate him. Now he was hell bent on making me realize how shit I actually was. Insight, psychologists call it.

He went on to say something about me convincing myself that I was trying far harder than I was actually attempting. I would do a half-hearted dive and finish it after it was over, so I could tell myself: Aha, me Aatreya, the great, is capable of doing [awesome thing] if he really tried. He just chooses not to, for he has better things to do than try.

Sometimes, said "insight" carries over to other aspects of life too. The feeling of personal inadequacy is only quenched by relating to others. After all, struggle is universal. The ultimate egotism would be to believe that one is Sisyphus while ignoring that your best friend may be living the life of Achillies, and both of you suffer in silence thinking that the other guy has it better. 

Ultimately, it's a cause of evolution. Only when you feel that you could've done better do you choose to improve, seeking out the unnatainable Greek tragedy you wish to emulate successfully. This time, you'll gain the glory of Achillies, but you'll know when to stop(at least that's what you tell yourself).

The ever-progressing feeling of "I could've done better" plagues me, but it's a humbling feeling. I'm not allpowerful, so why do I need to hold myself to the standards of Superman? I can live my life trying, and sometimes I'll fail, what about it?