When you’re up against the precipice, would you rather jump or be pushed?
If those are your only two options, what do you chose?
“But, why am I at the precipice?”
It doesn’t matter why. You just are.
“But, why doesn’t it matter?”
Because I said so. House rules.
“But, couldn’t I also stand my ground?”
Yes, you could, if that was an option. But it isn’t this time.
Jump or be pushed. That’s all you get. Pick one.
Both present the possibility for the same outcome but I think one is preferable. I came to this conclusion toward the end of a friendly poker game. Husbands of wives who are friends get together with some regularity, of which I’m unaware specifically, to exercise their friendship with chips (poker and potato and tortilla), beer and playing cards.
I probably won’t be invited back. That’s a story for another day.
I’ll tell you how the game went down. The end of the game. Well, the end of my portion of that game.
We’re playing Texas Hold ’em. Think World Series of Poker. I’m only playing select hands. My typical flaw in past poker encounters of the third kind has been to play hands that don’t have real potential. I decide to show greater discernment tonight. I win the first hand I play. It’s a nice bump. I lose a few more that I get drawn into. I’m selective but sometimes I make poor selections.
The night is waning and I’m down to a small stack of chips. A few of the guys have chip stacks that would make the Philistines blush. I better be judicious. I start doing some math. Based on the minimum bids and compulsory blinds I’ve got one good hand left in me.
A couple hands go by and I fold each time. Finally a couple good cards are looking back at me. This is the one. I’m playing and I’m going to bet it all. I won’t do that until I see the flop (3 cards face up for any player to incorporate into their hand) but I know I’ve got to put it all out there. I’m on the edge. I’m either going to be pushed or I’m going to jump. I choose to jump. Maybe I’ll clear the rocks below.
Only one other guy decides to hang in the hand, Jake. This is when I bet the farm. He calls me and we show our cards. Now, the hand isn’t over yet. We have more cards to see dealt but I can’t do any more betting. I’m all in. There’s a slim chance that I could pull together a straight. Turns out there’s a slim chance that he could pull together a flush in clubs or, as my daughter knows them, clovers. His flush would beat my straight. The fourth card is dealt. No help to either of us. The 5th and final card, known as the river, is placed face up on the table.
I make my straight.
But it’s a clover.
He makes his flush. I lose everything.
Losing never felt so good.
Our dear friend Theodore Roosevelt puts it thusly:
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.
I’ve always liked Theodore. (He said a bunch of other stuff I like, too. Then there’s the stuff he said that I don’t like. Oh well.)
I doubt he was talking about poker. But, then again, neither am I.
In any endeavor of great demand, a time will surely come when you are chased to a precipice. At the edge you realize you have but three options:
1) Hold your ground. (I’ll give this option back to you now though I don’t find it tenable in the face of a stampede. This will likely end in option 2.)
2) Be pushed.
3) Jump.
Sometimes there’s nobody chasing you. This can be just as bad. To wake to yourself waffling just far enough from that edge to render it benign. In these times, you’ll do well to chase your own keister over to that edge and “encourage” the moment. Then there are some cliffs you’ll face where you’ll teeter, the wind at your back, and somehow you’ll manage to pirouette to safety, a form of holding your ground. When this happens you’ll enjoy nature’s most glorious of experiences, relief.
Until you discover, much later on and often too late, that you’re actually an eagle.
You could have flown into your future.
If only you had jumped.
Being pushed would have worked as well but wouldn’t you rather it had been on your terms?
P.S. Thanks to Marc, Adam, Steve, Andy #1, Andy #2, and certainly Jake for taking my money. The lesson was worth far more than the buy in. Special mention goes to Weston who showed up late but nonetheless showed up. That’s half the battle. For those of us who grew up in the 80’s we know the other half is knowing.
