Harrison didn’t respond. He was staring at their bar… then back at his 95 pounds.
The two guys started pressing. Easy reps. Controlled. Almost bored. Warming up for the big show.
Then they racked it and added more weight. And more.
Harrison grabbed his towel.
“You know what, man? Thanks for showing me the ropes. I think I’ve got a feel for it now. I’ll just… I’ll come back tomorrow and get after it for real.”
John watched him walk out.
Harrison didn’t leave because he failed. He left because he watched.
“Compete externally and you compare. Compete internally, and you improve.” — James Clear
This quote seems obvious. Of course, we should focus on our own progress. Of course, comparison is the thief of joy. We’ve heard it a thousand times.
But there are two things most people miss:
First: Most people don’t lose the comparison game during the competition. They lose it before they start. They compare first — then never compete at all.
Second: The order matters. You must use your inside frame to compete FIRST. Then step outside for perspective. Then repeat. Not the other way around.
Harrison got it backwards. He zoomed out before he ever zoomed in. He looked at the landscape before he built any internal foundation to stand on. So when he saw the gap, he had nothing to return to. The comparison crushed him because he had no frame of his own yet.
He compared first. And the comparison won.
I saw this time and again in police work.
A rookie sees a cop with only five years on the job score a slot with the SWAT team… no easy feat in an agency with 2,000 officers. This guy is former SOF, an A-player on the beat, graduated top of his class. He sets a standard for others to follow… until others become the new one to follow.
The rookie watches this like it’s sorcery. The stats without complaints. Gigs teaching at the range. Passing the rigorous PT test and interviews to make SWAT on the first try.
The rookie’s quiet. Defeated, almost.
“I’ll never be able to do that.”
What he didn’t see was that same cop… 18 years earlier… fumbling through interviews, getting his ass kicked in Basic, talking too much, tipping suspects off, getting played by guys half as smart as him. He was terrible for years before he was good.
But the rookie didn’t see the reps. He just saw the result. And he compared — before ever competing.
Music is even worse for this.
A man has always wanted to learn to play guitar. Now, his business is doing well, and he doesn’t have to spend every waking hour running it. So, he buys a used Taylor acoustic. Learns a few chords. Feels pretty good about himself.
Then he goes on YouTube and watches a 16-year-old shred through some insane solo… fingers flying, tone perfect, crowd losing their minds.
Guitar goes back in the case. Maybe forever.
What he didn’t see was that kid starting at age 4. Ten years of lessons. Thousands of hours in a bedroom nobody filmed. The video is 90 seconds. The work behind it is a decade. The kid is also one in a million.
But all the new guy saw was the gap. And the gap swallowed him whole.
I played in bands for years. Some of the most talented guys I knew quit. Not because they couldn’t play… but because they watched someone else play and decided they’d never measure up.
They compared first. They never competed at all.
Business is the same game with different jerseys.
A first-time founder has an idea and dives deep into some research. Sees three established companies already doing something similar. They’ve got funding, teams, brand recognition, five-star reviews.
“They’ve already won. What’s the point?”
Laptop closes. Idea dies.
What he didn’t see was that the CEO of Company “A” went bankrupt twice before figuring it out. Company “B” pivoted four times and almost folded in year three. Company “C” started in a garage with a product nobody wanted and took seven years to find its market.
But from the outside? They look untouchable. And the first-time founder compared himself to their highlight reel… not their blooper reel.
He zoomed out before ever zooming in. He studied the landscape before he had any ground to stand on. So the landscape overwhelmed him.
Notably, you DO need external comparison. We all do.
You need to see what’s possible. You need to know where the bar is. You need to understand the terrain.
But that’s all it is. A compass. Not a scoreboard. And you don’t check the compass before you’ve started walking.
The moment you let comparison become your starting point, you’ve already lost. Because there will always be someone stronger, sharper, richer, further along. Always. That’s just a fact of life.
Harrison looked at 225 on the bar and saw a ceiling. What he should have seen was a direction.
Those guys didn’t start as beginners at 225. They started exactly where he was. Light weights. Bad form. Feeling like an idiot. They just didn’t quit. And if Harrison never hits 225, it’s still OK. Most people don’t. The guys who intimidated him, when compared to some others, look like wusses. Because there will always be those who are bigger and better.
The reframe is simple, but it’s not easy.
Compete first. Calibrate second. Repeat.
Start inside. Build your frame. Compete with yesterday’s version of yourself. Get some reps in. Establish your footing.
Then, and only then, step outside. Look at the landscape. See what’s possible. Calibrate.
Then step back inside and keep competing.
Most people get stuck in one place or the other. They either live outside, paralyzed by comparison, never starting because someone else is already ahead. Or they go fully internal, head down, grinding away, but never looking up to see if they’re even moving in the right direction.
The skill is the toggle… and getting the order right. Inside first. Outside second. Then back inside to continue.
Your only real opponent is the version of you that showed up last week. Beat that guy. Then beat the next one. Stack enough of those wins and eventually… you’re the one someone else is watching, wondering how you got there.
───────────
Tegan Broadwater spent 13 years with the Fort Worth Police Department, including two years assigned to the FBI working deep undercover inside a violent Crip organization. That operation, detailed in his book Life in the Fishbowl, resulted in 51 convictions. He has since founded Tactical Systems Network, an armed security & protection firm primarily staffed by veterans, is a creative writer and musician, and hosts The Tegan Broadwater Podcast. All book profits benefit children of incarcerated parents. Learn more at TeganBroadwater.com
COMMENTS