Win!

.CraigCardilino

Let me set the stage for you.  I am losing at Candyland for the 15^th straight time to my 3 year old daughter.  I dislike losing – and I tried really hard to mask the emotion on my face – but the 10th time she pulled a double move card in a row I just couldn’t help myself.  “C’mon! Are you serious how is it even possible…”  She stared at me with pure joy in her eyes and said, “Daddy, I love this game.”

Of course she loves this game – apparently she can’t be beaten.  How annoying.  If it wasn’t my job to teach her how quitting is never acceptable, I WOULD SO QUIT RIGHT NOW.  I never said I was a graceful loser.  I’m a terrible loser.  Even in a game of Candyland with my 3 year old daughter.  I completely realize how pathetic this is. 

We eventually finished the game (she won, shocker!) and it was time for bed.  Before we got to her room she turned around, gave me a huge hug and told me how much she loved playing games with me.  I smiled and said “Of course you love it, you always win!” She looked at me and said, “Next time you can win too!”

There it was.  She’s only 3.  She doesn’t really care about winning or losing.  She loves playing.  The joy for her is not in the outcome, it’s in the experience itself.  At some point in our development as adults we lose the joy from experience and completely obsess over the results.

Once this idea formed in my head I couldn’t shake it.  We care about who won the game.  What grade our kid got in Math.  The age our son will be when he starts forming sentences.  We obsess over what our yearly performance review said.  How much money we make.  How many people we manage.  What city we live in.  What kind of car we have.

Adults are living a life that is constantly bombarded by arbitrary “goals” and “achievements” that have been decided on by others and we judge ourselves, we judge our own self-worth, based on this win-loss record.  Do you have a Mercedes?  Win.  Do you own your own home?  Win.  Are you in at least middle management or higher?  Win.  Do you have automatic sprinklers in your lawn?  Win. Do you have to cut your own grass or shovel your own driveway? Loss.  This goes on and on and on until at some point you end up with a win-loss record of yourself and where you stand in the league of “all other adults.”

We either hate or idolize people who are “undefeated” and pity those who are “winless.”  We hope (sometimes secretly) to beat everyone else we know.  We strive to be the best that has ever played the game.  And towards the very end – we put our teeth in our mouth, sit on a rocking chair on the porch, and tally up the final score to determine if we had a good life or not.

And we rarely realize we missed the whole thing.  The results-driven lives we lead give us no guarantees except one.  It guarantees you miss the journey.  Always looking towards the next goal, towards the next event, towards the next promotion, towards the next milestone, leads you directly to the day you look around and think, “Where did the time go?”  “How did I get here?”  “That went by too fast.”

Every second I was aggravated with Candyland for letting my 3 year old win, was a second I was not cherishing playing Candyland with my 3 year old.  Every second you are obsessing planning a wedding is a second you are not cherishing being engaged.  Every moment you are angry at yourself for going 0-4 with 2 K’s is a moment that you do not cherish being at an age where you can still play baseball – a moment you will do anything to get back when you are my age.  Every second you spend looking out the windshield at the upcoming freeway sign is a second you miss the beautiful landscape to your left.  Ignoring the journey is simply no way to experience the journey of life.

Now I realize no one can enjoy the journey all day every day of their lives.  It’s not possible.  Our world would screech to a halt and nothing would get done except for people laying around staring at the clouds and hugging strangers or something.  Obviously, in order to take the journey we inevitably have to miss some of it, if just to make sure we are still on the road.  But missing most of it is simply not acceptable, and it’s exactly what this society has become.  It’s exactly what I have become.

My daughter has taught me a lot in 3 years, but this may be the biggest lesson yet.  Just having fun, really enjoying yourself no matter what you’re doing, is the biggest win of all.  She taught me that her record is a TON better than mine.  And she taught me that once you truly get great at the game, when you become the Michael Jordan of this game – you won’t even remember you have a record at all.