Part of my attempt to refocus on the good in the moment, rather than the potential bad of tomorrow, is trying to be more open to unexpected wisdom.
Funnily enough, I was watching a TV show this morning, and heard this from the main character’s monologue at the end:
Trusting anything – your family, your instincts, the dim-witted anchor on the ten o’clock news – it’s all a gamble, with plenty of promises and no guarantees. But I’m finding, the longer I live, no matter how often I fall on my face, that folding’s for losers. Winners take hits. Call it going all in; call it rolling the dice. Screw hedging your bets. Bluff, raise, call, stand, again, and again, and again.
Maybe that’s the message I needed, going into this week. I’ve got to get ready for my annual review. I’m closing out the fiscal year, gearing up for spring hiring, and trying to finalize twelve months’ worth of work for which I was only present six.
My whole life feels like a gamble; every single day, just getting out of bed feels like an almost intolerable risk.
I’m by nature risk-averse. I hate not knowing what’s going to happen, how it’s going to turn out, where I’m going to end up. I’m terrified of uncertainty, spontaneity. The unknown makes me so uncomfortable that I’m in constant danger of shutting down completely.
Because of my internal wiring, the more pressure I’m under, the more I need control and stability and predictability. Because of the way life works, the more pressure that comes, the less stability and predictability are available.
I used to love poker. Not so much anymore.
I’m going to try, this week, to go all in. Roll the dice. Pray that the bluff works, that calling makes the pot pay out, that the raise is the right move and not the final nudge that pushes me into the abyss.
Wish me luck.