By Marlon Dale Ferreira
The extraordinary lesson of a five-year-old boy, the wisdom of a championship-winning coach, and the uncomfortable truth about how we define success.
There is something profoundly wrong with a world that teaches children to fear failure more than dishonesty, to dread rejection more than mediocrity, and to measure their worth by the applause of others.
We celebrate the child who comes first in class. We congratulate the student who earns straight A’s. We proudly display trophies, certificates and medals. We announce university admissions on social media, celebrate promotions, admire successful entrepreneurs and applaud sporting champions.
But somewhere in this relentless pursuit of winning, we have forgotten to teach one of life’s most important lessons.
How to lose without losing yourself.
And perhaps an ordinary little boy, standing outside a supermarket with a handful of packets of chips, can teach us more about genuine success than an entire shelf of trophies ever could.
The Little Boy Who Wanted to Hear 100 People Say No
There is a touching story about a five-year-old boy participating in a fundraising activity for a Scout charity.
According to the account, the child stood near the entrance of a busy supermarket on a chilly European afternoon, holding packets of chips and wearing a handwritten sign asking customers to support his cause.
People hurried past him.
Some were distracted by their phones. Others were preoccupied with shopping. A few stopped, smiled and bought something.
But many declined.
“No, thank you.”
“Not today.”
“Sorry, little fellow.”
Yet something remarkable happened.
The boy did not become upset. He did not retreat in embarrassment or look desperately towards the teacher supervising him.
He simply smiled, thanked each person politely and approached the next customer.
Eventually, a visitor bought a packet and, impressed by the child’s determination, asked how much longer he intended to continue selling.
The little boy’s reported answer was astonishing.
“Until 100 people say NO to me!”
Confused, the visitor turned towards the teacher.
The teacher explained that selling the packets was not the real objective of the exercise.
The children were learning something far more valuable: how to experience rejection without allowing it to destroy their confidence.
They were learning that a refusal was not a verdict on their worth.
They were learning to approach another person after being turned away.
They were learning that disappointment was something they could survive.
And, most importantly, they were discovering that courage is not the absence of rejection, but the willingness to continue despite it.
The story is an illustrative account whose precise location and circumstances have not been independently verified. But its underlying lesson deserves serious consideration.
That little boy was not merely learning to sell chips.
He was learning to live.
The Championship Coach Who Discovered That Winning Was Not Enough
Thousands of kilometres away from the setting of that story, a remarkably similar philosophy emerged from one of the most successful coaches in American collegiate sporting history.
Valorie Kondos Field, affectionately known as “Miss Val”, spent 29 years as head coach of the University of California, Los Angeles women’s gymnastics team.
Under her leadership, UCLA won seven NCAA national championships.
By virtually every conventional measure, she was extraordinarily successful.
Yet when she addressed the audience at TEDWomen in 2019, she challenged the very definition of success that had made her famous.
Her talk, titled Why Winning Doesn’t Always Equal Success, raised an uncomfortable question.
What happens when we become so obsessed with winning that we damage the very people we are supposed to develop?
Kondos Field knew the answer because she had confronted that failure in herself.
When she first became head coach in 1990, she believed effective leadership required toughness, relentless demands and an uncompromising approach to performance.
She imitated the authoritarian methods she associated with successful coaches.
But her athletes eventually confronted her.
They told her that her behaviour was hurtful, demeaning and demoralising.
They wanted guidance, not humiliation. Encouragement, not intimidation. Accountability, not bullying.
It was a defining moment.
She could have defended her authority. She could have dismissed their concerns as weakness. She could have insisted that winning required sacrifice.
Instead, she listened.
And she changed.
She began developing athletes as complete human beings rather than treating them simply as instruments for winning competitions.
Her new approach emphasised trust, respectful honesty, patience and accountability.
The results were extraordinary.
Not because she abandoned high standards, but because she discovered a better way of achieving them.
When Winning Costs Someone Their Happiness
Perhaps the most powerful illustration of Kondos Field’s philosophy is the story of American gymnast Katelyn Ohashi.
Ohashi had been a phenomenal young talent. Yet the pressures of elite gymnastics had taken an enormous physical and emotional toll.
By the time she arrived at UCLA, her relationship with the sport had become deeply troubled.
During a team meeting, she made a statement that revealed the extent of her disillusionment.
“I just don’t want to be great again.”
Imagine hearing those words from an athlete whose extraordinary ability had once made greatness seem inevitable.
A conventional coach might have questioned her commitment.
A results-driven institution might have demanded that she justify her scholarship.
But Kondos Field eventually recognised something far more important.
Ohashi had not necessarily lost her love for gymnastics.
She had lost her love for what the pursuit of greatness had done to her.
The coach began rebuilding the relationship through trust, patience and genuine concern for Ohashi’s well-being.
Outside the gym, their conversations focused on ordinary life: family, friendships, education, hobbies and happiness.
Gradually, Ohashi rediscovered her confidence.
And with that confidence came something beautiful.
Joy.
In 2018, she helped UCLA win the NCAA national championship and captured the individual floor exercise title.
Later, her exuberant floor routines attracted worldwide attention.
But the greater achievement was not a medal or a viral performance.
It was that a young woman who had become disillusioned with her own extraordinary talent found a way to enjoy it again.
That is a form of success no trophy can adequately measure.
Two Teachers, One Extraordinary Lesson
Consider the remarkable connection between these two stories.
One involves a little boy learning to accept rejection.
The other involves a world-class gymnast learning to rediscover her self-worth.
One takes place outside a supermarket.
The other unfolds inside one of America’s most celebrated university gymnastics programmes.
Yet both challenge the same dangerous assumption.
That our value as human beings depends upon the outcome of our efforts.
The little boy’s teacher understood that a child who learns to accept rejection without shame develops something more enduring than the ability to sell a product.
Kondos Field understood that an athlete who learns to separate personal worth from competitive results develops something more valuable than the ability to win a championship.
Neither lesson suggests that winning is unimportant.
Winning matters.
Excellence matters.
Hard work, discipline, ambition and achievement matter.
But they must never become more important than the human beings pursuing them.
A child who learns to win but cannot tolerate losing is not fully prepared for life.
An athlete who wins medals but loses self-respect has paid an unacceptable price.
And an employee who produces exceptional results while suffering constant humiliation is not necessarily working in a successful organisation.
Success cannot be measured solely by what we achieve.
It must also be measured by what we become.
The Uncomfortable Truth About Our Education System
Now consider the expectations placed upon children in Sri Lanka and across much of the world.
From an early age, academic achievement becomes a defining measure of personal worth.
Children are encouraged to outperform classmates, secure scholarships, excel at examinations and gain admission to prestigious institutions.
Parents invest enormous amounts of time, money and emotional energy into these ambitions.
Much of that sacrifice comes from genuine love.
Parents want their children to enjoy opportunities they themselves may never have had.
But good intentions can sometimes produce harmful consequences.
When academic results become the primary measure of success, children may begin to believe that disappointing their parents is worse than disappointing themselves.
A child who fails an examination may feel ashamed rather than motivated to improve.
A student who narrowly misses university admission may begin questioning their intelligence, ability or future.
A young adult who is rejected at a job interview may interpret that rejection as evidence of personal inadequacy.
And instead of offering reassurance, some adults respond with comparisons.
“Look at your cousin.”
“Your brother managed it.”
“Why couldn’t you do better?”
“After everything we’ve spent on your education, is this all you can achieve?”
Such words may be intended to motivate.
But humiliation rarely creates the kind of confidence that sustains achievement.
It can teach children to conceal mistakes, fear difficult challenges and associate love or approval with performance.
We must ask ourselves whether we are preparing children for the realities of adulthood or simply training them to survive examinations.
Because adulthood does not distribute rewards according to school rankings.
The brightest student does not always become the most successful professional.
The most talented applicant does not always receive the job.
The most promising business does not always survive.
And the person who works hardest does not always receive the recognition they deserve.
Life is not an examination in which every correct answer guarantees a mark.
Sometimes, despite doing everything right, we lose.
That is precisely why learning to cope with disappointment is essential.
The Difference Between Raising Winners and Raising Resilient Human Beings
Imagine two children who fail the same examination.
The first returns home terrified.
He knows his parents will be angry. He expects comparisons, criticism and disappointment.
He begins to believe that his failure reflects who he is.
The second returns home equally disappointed.
But his parents sit beside him.
They ask what went wrong, what he found difficult and what support he needs.
They do not pretend the examination was unimportant.
They do not excuse a lack of preparation.
They help him understand the consequences, take responsibility and prepare more effectively.
Both children have experienced the same academic failure.
But they have learned very different lessons.
The first has learned to fear failure.
The second has learned how to respond to it.
One may become increasingly afraid to attempt anything that carries a risk of embarrassment.
The other may become more willing to confront difficult challenges.
The difference is not whether parents maintain standards.
It is whether those standards are accompanied by dignity, encouragement and unconditional human worth.
Discipline without compassion can produce fear. Compassion without accountability can produce complacency. Good parenting and good leadership require both.
The Lesson Our Workplaces Have Still Not Learned
This philosophy extends far beyond childhood and education.
It applies equally to the modern workplace.
Consider an organisation that consistently exceeds its financial targets.
Its profits are increasing. Productivity is improving. Management receives bonuses and shareholders celebrate.
Yet behind those impressive figures, employees are exhausted.
Staff are afraid to question decisions.
Mistakes are concealed because admitting them invites punishment.
Managers use humiliation as a motivational tool.
Experienced employees leave, while those who remain become increasingly disengaged.
Can such an organisation genuinely be described as successful?
Financially, perhaps.
But from the perspective of leadership, its achievements may conceal a deeply troubling failure.
Kondos Field’s experience offers a powerful alternative.
Effective leaders do not need to intimidate people into excellence.
They can create environments in which people are encouraged to improve, take responsibility, learn from mistakes and develop confidence.
This does not mean tolerating incompetence.
It means recognising that correcting a mistake and humiliating the person who made it are two entirely different things.
The same principle is especially important in professions where errors can carry serious consequences.
In aviation, healthcare, engineering and other safety-critical industries, the ability to acknowledge mistakes and report concerns is essential.
A culture in which employees fear punishment for speaking honestly can become dangerous.
A culture that encourages accountability, learning and responsible reporting is better positioned to identify weaknesses before they become disasters.
Great leadership does not remove the possibility of failure.
It creates the conditions in which failure can be examined, understood and, where possible, prevented from recurring.
Why Rejection Is Not the Opposite of Success
There is another lesson in the story of the little boy collecting 100 refusals.
We often regard rejection as evidence that we should stop.
But rejection is not always a judgement of our ability.
A customer may decline because they have no money.
An employer may reject an applicant because another candidate has more relevant experience.
A university may decline admission because places are limited.
A business proposal may fail because the timing is wrong.
A relationship may end because two people are fundamentally incompatible.
None of these outcomes automatically determines a person’s worth.
Of course, rejection can sometimes reveal genuine shortcomings.
We may need better preparation, improved skills, a different strategy or greater maturity.
But the healthy response is to examine what happened rather than surrender our identity to the outcome.
The little boy’s lesson was not that every refusal secretly meant yes.
Some refusals are final.
Some opportunities will never return.
Some dreams must be revised.
His lesson was that hearing no did not make him less worthy of approaching the next person.
And that distinction is enormously important.
Resilience is not pretending that disappointment does not hurt.
It is acknowledging the pain without allowing it to dictate the remainder of our lives.
It is understanding that failure is an experience, not an identity.
We can fail at something without becoming failures.
What Should We Ask Our Children When They Come Home?
Kondos Field offered an especially revealing observation about the conversations adults have with children after competitions.
Parents often begin with questions about results.
Did you win?
What was your score?
What grade did you receive?
How many marks did your friend get?
These questions may seem harmless.
But repeated often enough, they can communicate that the result matters more than the experience.
What if we changed the conversation?
What did you learn today?
What was the most difficult part?
Did you help someone?
Were you proud of your effort?
What would you do differently next time?
Did you enjoy the challenge?
These questions do not discourage achievement.
They teach children to understand achievement more deeply.
They encourage reflection, empathy, responsibility and self-awareness.
Most importantly, they communicate that a child’s life contains far more value than a number printed on an examination paper.
A child should never have to wonder whether a parent’s love will survive a disappointing report card.
The Greatest Victory May Be Invisible
Our society has become exceptionally skilled at recognising visible achievements.
We notice medals.
We admire certificates.
We celebrate wealth.
We applaud promotions.
We recognise public success.
But some of the greatest victories in human life are almost entirely invisible.
The student who fails an examination and finds the courage to sit it again.
The unemployed father who continues submitting applications after months of rejection.
The young entrepreneur who rebuilds after losing a business.
The athlete who returns to training after a devastating defeat.
The woman who walks away from a damaging relationship and begins rebuilding her confidence.
The employee who admits a mistake rather than concealing it.
The child who hears no for the hundredth time and still finds the courage to smile.
These people may never receive medals.
Their names may never appear in newspapers.
There may be no audience waiting to applaud their determination.
Yet their victories can be more meaningful than achievements celebrated beneath bright lights and television cameras.
Because courage is not always spectacular.
Sometimes, courage is simply getting out of bed after yesterday broke your heart.
Sometimes, it is submitting one more application.
Sometimes, it is admitting that you need help.
Sometimes, it is beginning again.
We Must Redefine What It Means to Be Successful
The little boy and the championship-winning coach offer us an important opportunity to reconsider what we value.
The teacher did not measure the child’s development solely by the number of packets sold.
Kondos Field eventually stopped measuring her athletes’ development solely by the championships they won.
Both recognised that the process of becoming a stronger human being matters enormously.
This should challenge every parent, teacher, employer, coach and leader.
Are we developing confidence or creating anxiety?
Are we encouraging ambition or cultivating fear?
Are we helping people discover their abilities or making them dependent upon our approval?
Are we teaching responsibility or merely demanding obedience?
And when the people entrusted to us inevitably experience disappointment, will they possess the emotional strength to recover?
Perhaps the most important question is this:
If someone fails to achieve what we expected of them, will they still feel respected, valued and capable of trying again?
The answer may reveal more about our leadership than any examination result, annual report or championship trophy.
A Message to Every Parent, Teacher and Leader
There will come a day when the child who proudly brings home a certificate returns with disappointing news instead.
There will come a day when the student who always excelled discovers someone more capable.
There will come a day when the promising athlete loses an important competition.
There will come a day when the young professional is overlooked for promotion.
And there will come a day when life refuses to reward someone despite their most sincere efforts.
When that day arrives, the applause will be gone.
The medals will offer little comfort.
The certificates on the wall will not provide the answers.
What will matter is the strength of character developed along the way.
The confidence to face disappointment.
The humility to acknowledge mistakes.
The wisdom to learn from experience.
The courage to ask for help.
And the determination to continue when continuing feels almost impossible.
These are not consolation prizes for people who fail to win.
They are the foundations of a meaningful and successful life.
We should certainly teach our children to aim high.
We should encourage excellence, celebrate achievement and demand honest effort.
But we must also teach them that disappointment is not disgrace, rejection is not humiliation, and failure is not the end of their story.
Let them compete.
Let them dream.
Let them work hard.
Let them experience the satisfaction of winning.
But when they lose, let them discover that they have not lost our love, our respect or their own human worth.
Because one day, long after their schooldays have ended, they will encounter a challenge for which no examination could have prepared them.
And in that moment, they will need something more valuable than a certificate.
They will need courage.
They will need resilience.
They will need the quiet conviction that their lives are worth far more than their latest achievement.
So perhaps the next time a child returns home disappointed, we should resist the temptation to ask why they failed.
Instead, we might sit beside them, listen carefully and say:
“I know this hurts. What have we learned, and how can we move forward?”
And perhaps the next time a child hears the word no, we should remember the little boy outside the supermarket.
He did not regard rejection as the end of his journey.
It was simply another step along the way.
That is the lesson we should be teaching our children.
That is the philosophy we should be bringing into our classrooms, sporting institutions and workplaces.
And that is the kind of leadership our world desperately needs.
Do not raise children who believe they are valuable only when they win.
Raise children who know their value even when they lose.
Because the greatest achievement in life is not never falling.
It is becoming the kind of person who can fall, rise again, and still have the courage to face tomorrow.
Sources and Further Reading
- TED — Valorie Kondos Field, “Why Winning Doesn’t Always Equal Success” (2019).
https://www.ted.com/talks/valorie_kondos_field_why_winning_doesn_t_always_equal_success - CBS News — Valorie Kondos Field on why winning doesn’t always mean success.
https://www.cbsnews.com/video/valorie-kondos-field-on-why-winning-doesnt-always-mean-success/ - The Indian Express — Success is not the same as winning: Gymnastics coach Valorie Kondos Field (2020).
https://indianexpress.com/article/lifestyle/life-positive/success-is-not-the-same-as-winning-gymnastics-coach-valorie-kondos-field-6217369/
Editorial note: The Scout fundraising anecdote is presented as an illustrative account. Its original source, location and dialogue have not been independently authenticated. The reporting concerning Valorie Kondos Field and UCLA is supported by the sources above.
