Published September 23, 2026 02:16PM
Corey Buhay is a Colorado-based editor and writer. She’s a climber and previously authored Outside’s Basecamp Confidential, a column that gives readers a look at the behind-the-scenes work of outdoor jobs. She’s also a runner. And she once got so good at competitive ice climbing that she traveled with the U.S. team. Here’s what she has to say about what success is—and isn’t.
If I could just be good at one thing, then I’ll be happy. That’s what I told myself for the first 30 years of my life.
If you’re currently throwing everything you’ve got at your outdoor pursuit of choice—or wishing you had the energy and time to do so—you might be under a similar impression. You wouldn’t be the only one. After all, American culture glorifies specialists, be they world-class skiers, violinists, or surgeons. Generalists, we’re told, are just people who never focused well enough to master anything. But specialists? Now those are the real heroes.
As a teenager, I was certain mastery was the secret to fulfillment. So when I first heard the famous Yvon Chouinard quote (Chouinard is Patagonia’s founder, an environmentalist, and a climber)—the one where he basically says it’s stupid to get any more than 80 percent good at anything—I scoffed. That Yvon, I thought.
He sounded like a quitter. Everyone knows real winners never give up.
A lot of us grew up with this mantra, even if not in those exact words. My teachers implied it through a much more sparkly piece of advice: Find your passion. Do that, they said, and everything else will fall into place.
But the problem with calling a pursuit a “passion”—whether it’s a sport, a job, or an art form—is that a passion is a thing you’re expected to want to bury yourself in until you’re perfect at it. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a hobby, let alone a career. And yet I ate it up.
As a teenager, I fixated on interviews with Olympic athletes, champion rock climbers, best-selling authors—the best of the best. I assured myself that I didn’t need to be exactly like those people to be happy. But I did need to be close.
The trouble was that I wasn’t naturally good at anything. I tried to be a runner, but I could never break 1:00 in the 400-meter. I got to 1:03 once, but never faster. In the years after I gave up on track, I always wondered if I should have tried harder. After all, I was only three seconds away.
Other pursuits yielded similar results. I tried cross-country, rock-climbing, and, briefly, CrossFit. Then I discovered an even more niche sport—competitive ice climbing—and actually did manage to get pretty good. I spent a few years traveling internationally with the U.S. team. I even won some competitions.
And you know what? I was never happy.
I enjoyed moments, sure. But to be good at the sport, I had to drop everything. During my peak competition years, I let other hobbies, friendships, and relationships slide. There was no other way to devote enough time and energy to my newfound specialty. It became my every waking moment. It became my identity. And life didn’t get better. It got worse.
Retiring wasn’t any easier. It turns out that the only thing worse than wondering how far you could take a sport is knowing the answer—and knowing you’ll never measure up to that level again. It took me a long time to fall back in love with climbing after I stopped training five days a week, and a longer time to let myself do other sports at a beginner level.
These days, I’m the person I used to scoff at: a dabbler. A weekend warrior. A generalist. I climb sometimes. I run sometimes. I take swing-dance classes on Mondays. I ride my bike once a week. In short: I’m a little bad at everything. And yet, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
A few weeks ago, I stumbled across that Chouinard quote again. I hadn’t thought about it in decades. It goes like this:
“I like to throw myself passionately into a sport or activity until I reach about an 80 percent proficiency level. To go beyond that requires an obsession that doesn’t appeal to me. Once I reach 80-percent level, I like to go off and do something totally different.”
This time, it struck me as truth. And it’s not just my new biases talking. Recent research indicates that, on the balance, generalists may very well be happier than specialists. They often end up with better problem-solving abilities and a more flexible knowledge base. They’re more likely to end up pursuing careers and hobbies that leave them fulfilled, and they’re more adaptable once they’re in those positions. As it turns out, learning lots of things makes you better at learning—which makes you enjoy learning more. In that way, trying new things is a positive feedback loop. It’s a door that opens hundreds more.
But what about that voice in the back of your head? The one that says you could have made it big if you’d only stuck with it. The one that says you still could if you just really tried. What about that cycling career? That swimming career? That running career?
I get it. Sometimes I still wonder how good I could have gotten if I’d kept climbing competitively, just as I still wonder whether I could have shaved those three seconds off my 400-meter dash.
But over time, I’ve come to realize I was never just three seconds away. Because mastery isn’t just about putting a little more effort in. It’s about ungodly amounts of time and sacrifice. Elite marathoners put in hundreds, if not thousands, of hours to shave off a few seconds and break records. Top climbers spend years in the gym and months working on project routes just to go up a single letter grade.
It’s tempting to think about the almosts. But missed goals are rarely accidents. They’re decisions you made, and likely for good reason.
The truth about my elusive 1:00 400-meter is that I was never close. It was always thousands of hours—not three seconds—separating me from that goal. Did I truly, honestly want to put in that time then? Probably not. Do I now? Hell, no. Not when I could spend those hours drawing or dancing or eating ice cream with friends. Not when I could dip my toes into all the other corners of life I have the time to experience now that I’m not single-mindedly focused on a narrow goal.
So, if you’re not a pro athlete—or even a very good one—don’t despair. In fact, do the opposite. Rejoice. Jump for joy. Cast those outdated dreams into the dust. Because right now, you’re doing it right. You’re living in the 80 percent. And that’s the best bit.
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