I am on a seven-year losing streak. Most people think I am being facetious when I say that. I am not. Our lives, at least my life-- because I shouldn't be presumptuous enough to speak for everybody-- is divided into small victories and small defeats, and large triumphs and catastrophes. We live for the large triumphs and hope to avoid the catastrophes. The micro versions get us through day to day. If we had no small victories, there would be little reason to get out of bed.
So we survive on little things that make us smile, but we live for the major triumphs. We live for the champagne-popping, let's celebrate, shouting and jumping-up-and-down moments. I haven't had one in seven years. Meanwhile, I have had a series of catastrophes that amounts to an incredible losing streak. Saturday, I opened an email from my colleagues, explaining that their committee has decided not to fund a project I have been sweating over for the past year. It's apropos that my hometown has the dubious distinction of being the losing-est major sports city in the country. I can relate.
Now, do not mistake me. I am not setting you up to feel sorry for me, nor am I feeling sorry for myself. I am telling you this because I have become a mental and emotional Hercules. There is a scene in Cool Hand Luke where George Kennedy is beating the snot out of Paul Newman in an informal prison boxing match, and "Luke" refuses to stay down. That scene is an allegory for my life right now. Life is beating the snot out of me, and I am laughing at it. All because I am lying in wait for the next major triumph, and I believe it is going to be huge.
How do I know this? I don't. I only know the facts, and the facts are that I have three goals for 2012, and I have never worked harder to achieve them. Never! I am only sorry that I cannot share these goals. It is not because I am superstitious, but because I want to pop the champagne, celebrate and jump up and down screaming and shouting if I achieve any one of these, and I will share it with everyone.
I am not a religious man, so I don't quite understand those who say, "God has a plan for me, so I will put my life in his hands." If there is a god, I would hope it would be the type of god that lets me take the wheel and determine my own destiny. And empirically you simply must believe in free will, because we see examples every day of how people are not rewarded for their hard work, and others far less deserving are handed the prize. The religious answer to that is that the reward comes in the next life, but I am living like there is no tomorrow and no next life. By the way, if the alternative method works for you, fantastic. Who am I to stop you from putting your faith in something bigger than yourself?
The inequity of life does not deter me. I am fighting back with a Paul Newman-like vengeance. I just finished watching a movie called How Do You Know? for about the fifth time. I also love the fact that virtually nobody cares about some of the movies I like. In this movie, George gives Maddy, who is seeing a rich ballplayer, a can of Play-Doh for her birthday. He is being indicted for something he didn't do, his father is the reason, he has no money and his girlfriend broke up with him. He doesn't care. He shares the Play-Doh with Maddy and tells her it was invented by Joe McVicker of central Ohio. He invented it to remove soot from wallpaper, but when central heat replaces coal furnaces he is about to be destitute. His sister-in-law tells him how much her kids enjoy playing with the stuff and he should color it and sell it as Play-Doh. George delivers the denouement, which is "I have kept this as proof, that we are all just one small adjustment away from making our lives work."
That's good writing and it identifies my struggle. I am just one small adjustment from making my life work. Those words, which I have adopted as a mantra, give me a wry smile. I know something that Life doesn't know. I may lose the struggle and fail on all three of my goals. I will be devastated. There's no avoiding that. But I will come back for another round and Life will look at me perplexed, as if to say, "I have beaten you to a pulp. Stay down."
Up yours, Life. I'm here for the duration.
