Published September 23, 2026 02:16PM<\/p>\n<\/div>\n Corey Buhay is a Colorado-based editor and writer. She\u2019s a climber and previously authored <\/em>Outside\u2019s<\/em>\u00a0Basecamp Confidential, a column that gives readers a look at the behind-the-scenes work of outdoor jobs. She\u2019s also a runner. And she once got so good at competitive ice climbing that she traveled with the U.S. team. Here\u2019s what she has to say about what success is\u2014and isn\u2019t.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/section>\n If I could just be good at one thing, then I\u2019ll be happy<\/em>. That\u2019s what I told myself for the first 30 years of my life.<\/p>\n If you\u2019re currently throwing everything you\u2019ve got at your outdoor pursuit of choice\u2014or wishing you had the energy and time to do so\u2014you might be under a similar impression. You wouldn\u2019t be the only one. After all, American culture glorifies specialists, be they world-class skiers, violinists, or surgeons. Generalists, we\u2019re told, are just people who never focused well enough to master anything. But specialists? Now those are the real heroes.<\/p>\n 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\u2019s founder<\/a>, an environmentalist, and a climber)\u2014the one where he basically says it\u2019s stupid to get any more than 80 percent good at anything\u2014I scoffed. That Yvon<\/em>, I thought.<\/p>\n He sounded like a quitter. Everyone knows real winners never give up.<\/p>\n 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\u00a0your passion. Do that, they said, and everything else will fall into place.<\/p>\n But the problem with calling a pursuit a \u201cpassion\u201d\u2014whether it\u2019s a sport, a job, or an art form\u2014is that a passion is\u00a0 a thing you\u2019re expected to want to bury yourself in until you\u2019re perfect at it. That\u2019s a lot of pressure to put on a hobby, let alone a career. And yet I ate it up.<\/p>\n As a teenager, I fixated on interviews with Olympic athletes, champion rock climbers, best-selling authors\u2014the best of the best. I assured myself that I didn\u2019t need to be exactly<\/i> like those people to be happy. But I did need to be close.<\/p>\n The trouble was that I wasn\u2019t 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.<\/p>\n Other pursuits yielded similar results. I tried cross-country, rock-climbing, and, briefly, CrossFit. Then I discovered an even more niche sport\u2014competitive ice climbing<\/a>\u2014and actually did manage to get pretty good. I spent a few years traveling internationally with the U.S. team. I even won some competitions.<\/p>\n And you know what? I was never happy.<\/p>\n 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\u2019t get better. It got worse.<\/p>\n Retiring wasn\u2019t any easier<\/a>. It turns out that the only thing worse than wondering how far you could take a sport is knowing the answer\u2014and knowing you\u2019ll 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.<\/p>\n These days, I\u2019m 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\u2019m a little bad at everything. And yet, I\u2019m happier than I\u2019ve ever been.<\/p>\n A few weeks ago, I stumbled across that Chouinard quote again. I hadn\u2019t thought about it in decades. It goes like this:<\/p>\n \u201cI 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\u2019t appeal to me. Once I reach 80-percent level, I like to go off and do something totally different.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n This time, it struck me as truth. And it\u2019s not just my new biases talking. Recent research<\/a> 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\u2019re more likely to end up pursuing careers and hobbies that leave them fulfilled, and they\u2019re more adaptable once they\u2019re in those positions. As it turns out, learning lots of things makes you better at learning\u2014which makes you enjoy learning more. In that way, trying new things is a positive feedback loop. It\u2019s a door that opens hundreds more.<\/p>\n But what about that voice in the back of your head? The one that says you could have made it big if you\u2019d only stuck with it. The one that says you still could if you just really tried. <\/i>What about that cycling career? That swimming career? That running career?<\/p>\n I get it. Sometimes I still wonder how good I could have gotten if I\u2019d kept climbing competitively, just as I still wonder whether I could have shaved those three seconds off my 400-meter dash.<\/p>\n But over time, I\u2019ve come to realize I was never just three seconds away. Because mastery isn\u2019t just about putting a little more effort in. It\u2019s about ungodly amounts of time and sacrifice. Elite marathoners put in hundreds<\/a>, if not thousands, of hours to shave off a few seconds and break records<\/a>.\u00a0Top climbers spend years in the gym and months working on project routes just to go up a single letter grade.<\/p>\n It\u2019s tempting to think about the almosts. But missed goals are rarely accidents. They\u2019re decisions you made, and likely for good reason.<\/p>\n The truth about my elusive 1:00 400-meter is that I was never close. It was always thousands of hours\u2014not three seconds\u2014separating 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\u2019m not single-mindedly focused on a narrow goal.<\/p>\n So, if you\u2019re not a pro athlete\u2014or even a very good one\u2014don\u2019t despair. In fact, do the opposite. Rejoice. Jump for joy. Cast those outdated dreams into the dust. Because right now, you\u2019re doing it right. You\u2019re living in the 80 percent. And that\u2019s the best bit.<\/p>\n Want more <\/b>Outside<\/i><\/b> health stories? <\/b>Sign up for the Bodywork newsletter<\/b><\/a>. And for tips on how to train, fuel, and recover better, <\/b>sign up for the Sweat Science 101 newsletter<\/b>.<\/b><\/p>\n\n