In life, there are always winners and losers. I don’t know why that is, only that it is. For someone to win the lottery, a lot of someone elses — always including me, it seems — have to lose. For sharks to stay alive, they’ve got to eat smaller fish or swimmers off the coast of Florida. It’s the yin and yang of life, the scales of justice balancing.

So many of us, though, confuse winning with happiness. Sometimes, those lottery winners end up broke and miserable, while the lottery losers like me muddle through life much higher on the happiness scale.

Maybe it’s expectations too great that beat us down. Maybe, just maybe, we’ve not learned the difference between winning and happiness.

Given that, does it seem that instead of spending so much time and energy on learning to win, that we instead learn how to be happy? We seem so preoccupied with producing winners in life. And the thinking goes that the key to being a winner is a high level of self-esteem.

But prison inmates tend to have pretty high levels of self-esteem, according to a study from several years ago, which got a lot of attention. The study contradicted the popular theory that criminals commit crimes because they have a low sense of self-worth.

This study found that prisoners actually have extremely high levels of self-esteem, which makes sense. Why on earth would someone commit a crime if they thought they were going to get caught? Criminals commit crimes because they think they will get away with them. Criminals always think they’re smarter than everyone else.

Think about it. Why would anyone decide that the best place to live is a big cage in which anyone walking by can see them sitting on the toilet? That lifestyle has no appeal for this writer, and the thought of it has occasionally been the one thing that’s kept her on the straight and narrow.

Another study found that bullies have heightened senses of self esteem, that they bully not because they loathe themselves, but because they think themselves superior and loathe others.

So, prison inmates and bullies tend to have high levels of self-esteem. Why then, do we want our kids to participate in activities meant to raise their levels of self esteem? Are we just asking for trouble?

We’ve never pushed our kid to participate in anything. Will’s tried lots of activities in his 10 years of life while sticking with one: piano, which makes his mother happy. He’s also tried soccer, tennis, swimming and magic, and while he’s not the most athletic kid, he possesses a wonderful attitude, one which I am quite sure isn't inherited from me: The kid has fun, no matter what he does.

Will recently finished up a short season of fall baseball — or “baseball light,” as I call it — in which no scores are kept and no trophies are given. This shortened season is for kids who regularly play ball and want the extra practice, or kids like Will, who’ve never played organized ball and who’d like a taste of it before committing time and energy to a regular season.

In this shortened season, the pressure to win is supposedly off kids. As well as not keeping score, there are fewer innings played, and a rule that magically ends an inning if the entire batting order makes it to the plate. Each kid gets to play every position. There are plenty of great assistant coaches/dads who spur the kids on with “great job,” “good eye,” and “super effort.”

It’s a great experience, truly, but I think we kid ourselves. Despite the work and rules to mask who wins and loses, the adults know full well which team ends up on top. And the kids know it most of all.

“We won,” my kid said as he got into the car after a game. “The score was 24 to 7.”

“I thought you didn’t keep score,” I said.

Will shrugged.

“I scored twice,” he said. “Did you see me score?”

“Of course I saw you score,” I said.

My kid was ecstatic. Never mind that he got on base twice because the pitcher hit him with the ball, or that he walked his other times at bat. And his teammates scored not because they’re great runners, but because their coaches have them steal bases when the other team drops the ball, which is a lot.

But I say nothing about any of this. I’m just glad my kid got some exercise.

“Are you proud of me, mom,” Will asked as we wait at the traffic light.

“Of course,” I told him. “And I’m especially proud that you actually swung at the ball this game.”

Will smiles.

“It was so much fun,” he said. “I can’t wait for the next game.”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence, each thinking that we were winners. Happy, for sure, but winners nonetheless.