First! A disclaimer: In order to best understand this post, it is recommended that you know how to play the card game Old Maid. You don't? Well then, let me Google that for you. If you think you know how to play, but suspect that you have been misled in your comprehension of the rules, then A) this will be a very important post in your life, and B) you are not alone. Ok, armed with this knowledge, you may now continue your reading.
I was well past the acceptable age to learn such things when I was finally told that
holding the Old Maid card at the end of the game was not, in fact, the universal signal that you had won. I was a few years into the age of the double digits before I came to the very deep understanding that a senile housekeeper is not actually desirable. This simple fact had eluded me for years because I had been distracted by the joy and satisfaction of my (false) success. Growing up, I simply thought that maintaining possession of the Old Maid was the way to win.
Since both my parents worked summers, as a child I spent many June and July days with my paternal grandparents. Now, Grandma McCown is one of the sweetest women on the planet, and pretty early on she made the executive decision to let me play this game on my own terms. My interpretation of a successful game of Old Maid pleased me so much that she didn't have the heart to tell me otherwise. I don't remember learning that Santa wasn't real, but when I was told the truth about the Old Maid, my perspective on life took a significant turn in much the same way (I would imagine) that many children's lives did when they learned that big secret about Christmas. To call it a watershed moment in my young life would be appropriate, I think. It created what some might consider to be a seismic shift in my awareness of the world around me... (this is only a mild exaggeration).
All those years that I had selected unknown cards from the hands of
others, hoping that this time, just maybe, fortune would guide my little
outstretched fingers to the card I wanted most... All those years that I had gleefully watched others choose pair-able cards from my hand, assuring me that the Old Maid was left safely in place for yet another round... And all those years that I had victoriously leaped to my feet when all the other cards had been matched and laid on the table, one pair at a time, with crooked smile beaming (pre-braces, of course), and fists in the air, one clutching the coveted card for which the game itself was named... All those years. I had been living a lie.
Oh, the joy had been real, but the victory was an illusion. It didn't really exist. Someone else has won, or maybe the whole table had won, but really the only clear distinction that the final card revealed was that, all along, I had been losing. Forget the counting of matched pairs, I thought it was the old woman alone who determined our fate.
It was my pure excitement that kept my grandmother from telling me I had actually lost, that the feat that made me so proud was actually the short straw in the bunch. In my mind, that one straw, so different from all the others, had made me the winner. After the truth was revealed, this new, more technically correct version of the game felt like uncharted territory the first few plays. I was now supposed to avoid something that I had always been striving for. The Old Maid was no longer my trusted friend, but an unreliable enemy to be dodged and shunned at all costs.
As you can imagine, the game hasn't really been the same for me ever since. There was a certain positivity to chasing a goal, and that evaporated when the motivation to acquire became the motivation to run away from. To me, that is inherently negative. But, the point of this whole story is that I have decided to come back to that first version of the game we played for so many years. I think there is a good lesson to be learned here, and I'm going to re-incorporate it into my "adult life." General consensus may agree that there is one way to win and one set of rules to follow. I'm calling bullshit. I liked the method of "losing" so much better, so I'm just going to focus on that instead. It may be unconventional, but I'll gather around me people like my grandmother who have the vision to see that the card itself isn't the prize - that emotion, that joy is the real reward.
Talent hits a target no one else can hit.
Genius hits a target no one else can see.
- Arthur Schopenhauer
I'm dropboxing this perspective into my worldview, and I'm going to keep motivating myself to find ways to apply it in my life. It's easier to strive toward things we are told bring happiness: certain jobs, incomes, perfect partners, more and more possessions... but I think it's more worthwhile (a better use of our time) to step back and understand not what makes people happy, but what makes you happy. To hit those targets though, won't it be difficult?
*****
"Hello, my name is Caitlin, and I'm an overthinker." Little thoughts in their little laced up running shoes sprint through my head all day, and its getting really crowded in there. Uncomfortable even. What makes me happy is writing down these ideas and giving them homes outside of my brain where they can run free (or take root) and they can mingle with other thoughts and bloom, unrestricted, if they so choose. Honestly, it makes me nervous to let them out and let other people see them, my vulnerable little thought-babies. But my grey matter was becoming not unlike an episode of Hoarders, where nothing could be found among the disorganized piles of clutter, and there wasn't room for anything new. Hoarding (even thought-hoarding) is a disease, and this blog is my twelve-step program for coming clean and getting healthy (ok, it's really a one-step program [too many thoughts? well then, just write 'em down for crying out loud!], and I can't imagine there are eleven more steps, but there are probably like, I dunno, maybe two or three more, but I figure they'll just reveal themselves when it's time, if they do exist).
Anyway. It may not always be conventional, but my life tends to work itself out on its own time. I mean, I'm glad to know now how the rest of the world plays Old Maid, but honestly, I think I prefer my own way. It's so easy to complain and focus on the negative, but what if these things we complain about just need to be seen in a different light? I've made the executive decision recently to start looking for the Old Maids in my life. What have I been avoiding or evading? I think I've been wrongly accusing her of being inherently bad, when a change in my perspective could give me a completely different outcome. I'm challenging myself to start seeing the things I so easily complain about as potential instruments of happiness. This is all much easier said than done, but I'll be sure to let you know how it goes.
Happiness is an Old Maid card.
