At the risk of getting into Forrest Gump territory, I hereby postulate the title as a truism. Imagine if you will, that every year, you're dealt a new card from the deck of life. You might get a good one, a bad one, a useless one, or a vital one, depending on what hand you're trying to build. Or perhaps you don't know what kind of hand you're trying to build, so you just wait and see what cards life offers you and make the best of it. Some of us are dealt good cards, some are dealt bad ones, and that's unfair. I'm not one of those to shrug off unfairness and repeat the tired cliche "who said life is fair?" Why not? Because life is what we make of it, isn't it? Life isn't something imposed on us from the outside that we all have to deal with. Life is within us. Hell, life IS us. Saying that "life isn't fair" should be followed up with, "you know, you're right. Sometimes life isn't fair. Can we do something about that? If not change the fairness/unfairness, maybe mitigate the injustice? Treat those who were dealt poor hands a little better, give them a little leeway, maybe a bit more help?"
Anyway.
I'm going to press this analogy/metaphor/trope that life is a deck of cards whether you like it or not, Reader, so bear with me. Granting that we are dealt different cards in our lives, and granting that a just and worthwhile society should take steps to try and even things out when possible, we still have an obligation to play those cards. Yes, we should all have the resources we require to succeed. Notice I didn't say "the same resources," because we don't all need the same things. I'm not in favor of issuing reading glasses to every single student, for example--but we absolutely should give them to those who need them. But having done that--having tried to distribute resources to reflect need--it's still up to the individual to actually play the cards.
Why am I pushing this analogy so hard? Well, if you imagine getting a card a year from the deck of life like I said earlier, then I've reached a peculiar moment in mine. I'm 52 today, which coincidentally is also the number of cards in a standard deck. So this seems like a good time to take stock: not of the cards I have been dealt, but how I've played them.
Do I have regrets? Of course. There are things I wish I hadn't done (some which I will carry in my heart forever and never, ever wash away the stain) but mainly, it's the things I didn't do that bother me. The plays I didn't make, the times when I folded (to torture this metaphor to within an inch of its life) instead of went all in, or times when I walked away from the table entirely.
Here's the good news, though:
I feel like I'm doing a lot of them now. My main one is, of course, writing. I wish I'd tried to enter the professional world sooner. I've been writing for literally as long as I can remember--somewhere in primary school we were tasked with writing a story to reflect Christmas (this was before we had matured enough as an American society to fully realize the diversity of belief in public school). I was so engrossed in the story that I dove into the project with the fervor of a zealot. I asked for an extension so I could complete my Magnum Opus. My brother, God love him, several years ago found the original story and reproduced it faithfully--including illustrations--and presented it to me at a family holiday celebration (remember, Jeff? "Mender, Mender?")
I wrote in middle school, I wrote in high school, I wrote in college and beyond. But it wasn't until 1996 that I first gathered the courage to send something in for publication. And it's taken even longer for me to try to get into the novel publishing business.
But, dammit, I'm there now. Sure, I sloughed off a lot of cards, and was timid when I should have been bold, but despite taking the long way 'round, I got there.
(I should note that the one time I was bold beyond my character has been the single greatest event in my life--approaching that spellbinding girl from across the gym dance floor at the Homecoming Dance in 1983 at Newbury Park High School. I performed a magic trick involving a disappearing napkin and thus won her heart. We've been together ever since and just recently celebrated our 28th wedding anniversary)
So. Anyone reading this, it's never too late. But also, don't wait. I know that may seem contradictory, and maybe it is, (I am large, I contain multitudes) but it's my birthday message to you.
Be seeing you!
Anyway.
I'm going to press this analogy/metaphor/trope that life is a deck of cards whether you like it or not, Reader, so bear with me. Granting that we are dealt different cards in our lives, and granting that a just and worthwhile society should take steps to try and even things out when possible, we still have an obligation to play those cards. Yes, we should all have the resources we require to succeed. Notice I didn't say "the same resources," because we don't all need the same things. I'm not in favor of issuing reading glasses to every single student, for example--but we absolutely should give them to those who need them. But having done that--having tried to distribute resources to reflect need--it's still up to the individual to actually play the cards.
Why am I pushing this analogy so hard? Well, if you imagine getting a card a year from the deck of life like I said earlier, then I've reached a peculiar moment in mine. I'm 52 today, which coincidentally is also the number of cards in a standard deck. So this seems like a good time to take stock: not of the cards I have been dealt, but how I've played them.
Do I have regrets? Of course. There are things I wish I hadn't done (some which I will carry in my heart forever and never, ever wash away the stain) but mainly, it's the things I didn't do that bother me. The plays I didn't make, the times when I folded (to torture this metaphor to within an inch of its life) instead of went all in, or times when I walked away from the table entirely.
Here's the good news, though:
I feel like I'm doing a lot of them now. My main one is, of course, writing. I wish I'd tried to enter the professional world sooner. I've been writing for literally as long as I can remember--somewhere in primary school we were tasked with writing a story to reflect Christmas (this was before we had matured enough as an American society to fully realize the diversity of belief in public school). I was so engrossed in the story that I dove into the project with the fervor of a zealot. I asked for an extension so I could complete my Magnum Opus. My brother, God love him, several years ago found the original story and reproduced it faithfully--including illustrations--and presented it to me at a family holiday celebration (remember, Jeff? "Mender, Mender?")
I wrote in middle school, I wrote in high school, I wrote in college and beyond. But it wasn't until 1996 that I first gathered the courage to send something in for publication. And it's taken even longer for me to try to get into the novel publishing business.
But, dammit, I'm there now. Sure, I sloughed off a lot of cards, and was timid when I should have been bold, but despite taking the long way 'round, I got there.
(I should note that the one time I was bold beyond my character has been the single greatest event in my life--approaching that spellbinding girl from across the gym dance floor at the Homecoming Dance in 1983 at Newbury Park High School. I performed a magic trick involving a disappearing napkin and thus won her heart. We've been together ever since and just recently celebrated our 28th wedding anniversary)
So. Anyone reading this, it's never too late. But also, don't wait. I know that may seem contradictory, and maybe it is, (I am large, I contain multitudes) but it's my birthday message to you.
Be seeing you!
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