It has, somehow, been 4 years since the MileNerd days. Huh? I stopped writing a daily miles and points blog…4 years ago?? Could have sworn all of that was just yesterday. This whole time thing needs to chill, right?
Alas, it never will.
As we accelerate into the holiday season, here are my scattered thoughts and observations from 2022…
Favorite purchase of the year? Theragun (yes, I’m old).
Critical things to be great at in this crazy world? I nominate: Stress management and ability to focus. Massive connection between those 2 things and what someone accomplishes with their time.
Birthday parties for babies. Why?
Lessons. They’re what you receive when you don’t get what you want. Wise people pay close attention. The masses lick wounds and wait for that same lesson to appear yet again.
Movie theaters in airports. Who says no?
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you start making sound effects when you stand up.
Seek clarity in your relationships.
Most underrated skill? You see it in the people who routinely say things like this with ease: “That’s on me.” “I screwed that up.” “Wow, I had this all wrong.” Really observe. Watch how those people always seem to grow. Not a coincidence. Most don’t want to see where they have things wrong. They’ll build their entire universe around that avoidance. Remaining stuck until the end. Do everything you can to avoid that mental prison. Search out the ways you are wrong.
Speaking of babies, why do their clothes have pockets?
Favorite movie of the year? “Everything Everywhere All At Once.” By a wide margin.
If you back into parking spaces…reevaluate everything.
“Attitude is the difference between an ordeal and an adventure.”
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you start asking, “When did college students start looking like high school kids!?”
As the world keeps score of every screwup in a “Gotcha!” way, it becomes more important to fight this in ourselves. Our world may have forgotten. We must remember. Mistakes are ok. Messing up was never supposed to be a way of proving that someone sucks. We can be better than that.
Have Apple Pie a la Mode for breakfast at least once before you die.
Generalize less.
Listen more.
Truly forgive someone who has wounded you before you die.
Favorite meal of the year? Hawksmoor, New York City.
Still having heavy conversations in writing? Don’t justify it. Just be honest. That comes out of laziness or, more often, fear. And it’s not helping you or anyone else. If you care about someone, this is part of you show it in our new world. Don’t have those conversations in writing.
Favorite athlete of the year? Steph Curry.
Confidence is only possible when you show up for yourself.
Self-loathing is only possible when you believe a lie about yourself.
Elevators seem like a pretty straightforward process. The people inside walk out. Then, the people outside walk in. How are we still struggling with this?
Don’t forget to breathe.
Emotional maturity is rare. Most people don’t even know how to define it. Being obsessively even-keeled and repressing your emotions is not maturity. So, what is? For one thing, not shutting down around emotions (including your own). Being able to handle healthy pain, anger, intimacy, and intensity. Knowing it’s all a normal part of life. And being able to differentiate (A) someone trying to hurt you, from (B) someone just being a human being with feelings.
If you include politics in your social media bio…reevaluate everything.
Just because you’re done with your past…doesn’t mean your past is done with you.
You are not your crazy thoughts. You are the observer of them.
If you won’t change habits, nothing will ever get better.
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you have a favorite mug and form strong opinions about salt shakers.
Give in to love. Before it’s too late. Maybe you grew up in a home that didn’t show you a healthy form of love. Hurt people hurt people, right? Maybe you never figured out how to put down the self-protection. But there is someone in this world who deserves your trust. All of it. In our youth, we didn’t understand it because we couldn’t. But now it’s clear. There’s nothing more special than love. Allow it in. Accept it with care. And treat anyone who gives it to you with kindness.
As a society, we literally use “literally” incorrectly.
Trying to please everyone is a great way to ensure you won’t please anyone all that much.
Who do you want to be in 5 years? How would that person spend today?
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you develop a magical ability to drink one beer and wake up fat.
“A different version of you exists in the mind of every single person who knows you.”
Fight for yourself and your wants. Nobody else can. There isn’t a cavalry that exists to do that job. Somewhere inside is a person with dreams – and the clock is ticking fast.
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you strongly consider Birkenstocks.
Don’t auto-reject the people and things outside of your comfort zone. Turn down the volume on head-shaking. Turn up the volume on curiosity. Swim around in discomfort.
If you feel it’s wrong for people to use their reclining seats as intended…reevaluate everything.
Favorite quote of the year? “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”
Finally, I know this has been a rough year for so many of us. In a wide variety of ways. If you need to hear this, please hold on to hope. You. Fucking. Matter. Rich or poor…happy or miserable…popular or lonely. No matter how much the world can make you feel otherwise…you matter. And you always will. It isn’t something you have to earn.
This isn’t some Sandra Bullock romcom featuring the delightful British actor Hugh Grant. It’s real life. And I’ve never been so late for a flight. It was supposed to be a simple 23-minute Uber ride. How have I been sitting in this slow-moving Buick for over an hour?
My driver has a hard-to-identify accent which accompanies his mysterious odor. I have many questions. Why does it smell like cabbage in his car? How does he have so many vowels in his name? And why won’t he just follow his maps? Nobody is smarter than technology, sir. Nobody!
Ok, just breathe.
Miracles happen every day, right? Paris Hilton has a career…the Kardashians are billionaires…and Herchel Walker impresses actual human beings with his brainpower.
I can make this flight.
The driver with 6 vowels in his first name speaks calmly into his iPhone. Not a care in the world. Does he know how close we’re cutting this? Also, what language is he speaking? It sounds totally made up. How do I know there’s even a person on the other end of that phone line? Maybe this is a movie. A Halloween thriller about being trapped with a slow-moving, cabbage-hoarding lunatic.
Beads of sweat are marching down my forehead.
I decide to initiate conversation…
“Maybe just follow the map? That’s probably the fastest way, right?”
He glares back at me coldly in the rearview mirror without saying a word.
The silence is deafening.
I scroll through ESPN scores as if I’m not trapped in a deathmobile at 3 miles per hour. This is fine. I’ll just ignore the fact that my left leg is starting to twitch. Who needs body control anyway?
Miraculously, the deathmobile begins moving at a normal rate of speed. Then much faster. The Man With Too Many Vowels In His Name has found a hidden reservoir of motivation. We race through town. All of his terrible shortcuts are now working. He’s actually a hell of a driver. It’s as if a switch got flipped – moving him from comatose to caffeinated.
We arrive at the airport. I thank him profusely and he stares at me like I just called his mother a prostitute. Alright, time to go. I hustle over to the Clear security area. They scan my eyeballs and escort me to the front of a very long line. People stare angrily as if they’re all related to The Man With Too Many Vowels In His Name.
I have 9 minutes to make it to the gate. Nothing can stop me now.
(Right then, security stops me)
They need to look through my bag. Either because of liquids or because I’m a hairy brown man with sweat pouring down his face. Not sure which. They run a quick test on my saline and I’m free to go. I now have 3 minutes to make it the gate.
I run as fast as these hairy legs will move.
I can still make this flight.
Luckily, it’s Southwest Airlines. I arrive to find the usual clusterfuck of humanity. Two overflowing lines of confused people trying to figure out where to stand. I’m covered in sweat. So I squeeze in between all of the other flustered, sweaty people. Just in time to board our Greyhound bus through the sky.
This is quite a group. Even the flight attendants look like characters straight out of The Grapes Of Wrath.
Hungry.
Tired.
Covered in dust.
I stumble to my seat in the back of the bus plane. It’s quite possible the two other people in my row have never been spotted outside of a DMV. One of them is a tall lady wearing the most makeup I’ve ever seen on a face. It looks almost like Ronald McDonald is sitting in that window seat. She’s just staring at the tray table in front of her. Completely still.
No reading.
No music.
Just staring.
Who’s in the middle seat? An elderly gentleman wearing multiple sweaters. At least 3 of them. All underneath his extra-thick winter coat. Do I understand avoiding checked bags? Absolutely. But this guy is a human walk-in closet. He’s overflowing out of his seat area. And why on earth would he choose a middle seat? He’s clearly not with Ronald McDonald over there.
Has anyone in the history of Southwest Airlines made the choices that this old dude is making?
Ok, let’s not assume. Maybe he isn’t aware that he can sit wherever he wants. So, I decide to let him know. He’s roughly the size of Texas right now and could use some extra space.
“Would you like to take the aisle seat, sir? It’s yours if you want it.”
He smiles and nods. And thus begins the lengthy process of watching someone try to roll out of a middle seat cocoon. I debate whether I should give him a hand. Or maybe a push. Eventually, I realize the choice is clear…
Do not touch anyone on this plane.
As I finally settle into my seat between Grimace and Ronald McDonald, I realize something. There’s no way I’ll be able to use the bathroom on this flight. It might take hours or a crane to move him again. Could be wise not to order any drinks. I mentally pat myself on the back for helping out a man buried under 42 layers of clothing. But, wow, it’s a tight squeeze. I decide to request a small bit of comfort…
“Just lemme use the armrest please.”
Grimace nods and smiles.
(And then immediately takes over the armrest for the duration of the flight)
On the final night, I settled in to watch a game at the crowded sportsbook. Wanted to make sure the empty seat was free. But before I could finish the question, my boisterous seat neighbor bellowed:
“It’s got your name on it, pal!”
We were off and running…
Joel, by his own admission, is in a “sweet spot.” Life is cruising along. He’s a successful 62-year-old attorney from Texas with a magnetic personality. Health, career, and friendships? All good. And, surprisingly, the guy is more than just a talker. Dude really knows how to listen. To the point that I had to ask him about it…
He attributed his skill to two factors:
A job that is mainly about being a negotiator. The key to success, according to Joel? Listening.
His father. The greatest man he has ever known. His hero and example.
Whenever someone talks about their father as a best friend, it honestly sounds like a foreign language to me. Genuinely hard to comprehend. And when Joel started talking about his parents’ beautiful marriage, that seemed even more alien. But different stories, different impacts…
The football game continued on, the drinks kept flowing, and the conversation kept deepening…
No longer just a run-of-the-mill chat.
We were talking about everything now…
Turns out that Joel has no kids and no wife. But he was married once – three decades ago – to a woman who broke his heart by cheating on him. And, really, by lying. See, integrity is very important to him. That’s how his parents were.
As Joel answered my questions with passion, I was genuinely surprised by what was happening behind his eyes…
This 62-year-old man who had his heart broken at 32…
Was still crushed by this.
Today.
He really loved her. Having gone into it with his heart wide open. With dreams of a marriage like the one his father had.
But, when that didn’t work out, what happened next?
For the next 30 years (and counting), Joel covered up his pain. Much like we all do.
With…stuff.
Careers or drinking or anxiety or whatever else we use. Fill in the blank. It’s all the same attempt to distract ourselves from sitting in our hurt.
Joel still can’t see it after all this time…
The problem wasn’t his going “all-in.”
He just went all-in on the wrong person…for the wrong reasons…
And then “protected” himself for the next 30 years.
Like we all do in our own ways.
We get hurt, learn the wrong lessons, and then try to “protect” ourselves in such strange ways.
But what if you are actually so much more than your self-protection?
I’ve had a long, strange love affair with game shows…
1997: All my buddies were busy making plans. A week filled with keg stands and pretty girls in small bikinis. It was time for spring break debauchery. My plans, on the other hand, were a bit different. All centered around a gray-haired man named Bob. Or maybe I’d call him Mr. Barker. Either way, I’d find out soon enough. No Florida in my future. I was headed out west to try my luck on The Price Is Right. And my 21-year-old brain kept visualizing the same image…
Holding a shiny set of keys.
The idea of showing up empty-handed and leaving with a new car a few hours later?
It. Blew. My. Mind.
Honestly, how cool is that? Especially for deal people like us!
Yeah, well, nobody else was even slightly interested in this oddball plan. Kelley (from a different yearslong journey) was the only one who shared any of my passion. But, alas, we were a broke pair of college kids. She didn’t have the cash to make it work and I was still years away from having a fat stack of miles and points. So I jumped on my US Airways jet plane of dreams alone…
California was a bizarre and incredibly exciting place. It truly felt like a different world from West Virginia. I booked a room at the Farmer’s Daughter Motel across the street from CBS. I’m quite certain it was a dump but all I remember is hope and possibilities. I slept maybe two hours that night. There was just so much excitement in the air…
I walked across the street soon after sunrise and joined a couple hundred people already in line. Many of them friendly. Some of them eccentric. A few seemed to be visitors from a neighboring planet. While I didn’t get called down to play a game that day, I did learn a very important game show lesson…
They want lunatics.
If you lose your mind telling producers your name…imagine what might you do if you win a car?
Ah, got it.
I also noticed how the first person in line got chosen to play. Maybe that’s always the case? Interesting…
After scarfing down a quick dinner that night and taking a power nap, I showed up again. Just after midnight. Me and my trusty Farmer’s Daughter Motel blanket wrapped tight. The groggy CBS security guard looked confused. He asked why I was there before quickly realizing the answer. He dished out an enthusiastic high-five for my passion.
The show that day? Man, it was a blur. All the lights, sounds, and nonstop cheering totally hypnotizes people. Everything moves at turbo speed. Before I knew it, Bob Barker called my name and the curtain opened…revealing a car.
YES!
Apparently, I lost that game. It’s hard to remember much of anything since I was floating ten feet off the ground. I left with a bed and a desk. It certainly didn’t feel like a victory. I was there to win a car. And that didn’t happen. Also, I’d never calculated how bad it might feel to lose a car. This would be a very long flight back to West Virginia.
As I left the studio, I walked past a line of hundreds of people waiting for the next taping. They asked how it went and I shared my story. Maybe they felt bad. I don’t know, maybe it was impossible to miss the disappointment in my eyes…because they stood up and gave me a round of applause. That actually felt pretty nice. After doing my paperwork, I checked out of the motel and headed to my jet plane of pain.
Man, I really would love to give it another shot one day. But The Price Is Right stores all that information and it’s once per lifetime. Oh well…
Over a decade later: On the phone one day, my mom mentioned: “Hey, you should try The Price Is Right again. You live in the same city now. And you really wanted to win a car in college. Remember?”
Uh, of course I remember.
Annoyed, I explained how it’s once per lifetime and I already had my shot at a car. They keep records…it’s not like I can just sneak in. But moms are persistent. Unfazed, she said, “Just double-check.” I looked it up the next day. And, sure enough, the rule had changed. Price Is Right had a new host and it was now once per decade. Hell yeah!
Ok, no screwing around this time. It’s obvious what this takes:
Act like a crazy person to get on.
When it’s game time, calm the fuck down.
Everyone gets rattled. Keep your feet on the ground…don’t float away into the clouds with all that noise and excitement…and you’ll have a real shot to win.
Sure enough, I got my chance. This time, I won my game. Just never got to play for the real goal. I left with a fancy Jura espresso machine and $4,500. Great day, of course. But still no showcase. And still no car.
A few years later: The dream was technically winning a car from The Price Is Right. But I was 0-for-2 there and couldn’t go back for years. So, Let’s Make A Deal entered the equation. It was the day after Halloween so I quickly grabbed a couple of clearance items. This show requires a costume. Hmm…a referee outfit and a giant bling dollar-sign necklace? Kind of random but I can make it work.
(Editor’s note: It’s not hard to get to play on a game show. Just requires a few seconds of acting like an insane person. The challenging part is getting to play for the right prize. That requires some luck. And, of course, winning that prize)
I showed up bright and early. Said I was a referee who takes bribes, went crazy, and did the whole song and dance. A few hours later, I got my chance to play…
Stay calm, dude. You know the deal. Feet on the ground. Don’t get distracted by the chaos and float away.
Before I knew it, I was up $1500 with a chance to trade it in. Did I want the mystery item behind the curtain? YES!
Hmm, that’s a pretty badass motorcycle. I don’t actually know how to ride one…but, hey, this was a hell of a day. Ideally, it would’ve had a couple more wheels. Maybe I’ll get another shot one day.
But then, at the end of the show, I received a heaping dose of luck…
Do I want to trade my winnings for a chance at the Big Deal Of The Day? Absolutely!!!
Alright dude, you’ve got a commercial break to figure this out. There’s a car behind either door 1, 2, or 3. I gotta pick the right one.
Everyone surrounding me is yelling: “Three! Three! Three!”
But then something catches my attention…
Sitting right behind me is a mysterious-looking gentleman who hasn’t spoken a word the entire day. While everyone around him is hopping around and cheering, he’s just sitting there silently. Peacefully. Long dreadlocks almost making him look like a medicine man. I turn around and ask: “What door do you think?”
With a James Earl Jones level of bass in his voice, he utters a single word: “One.”
Ok, door 1 it is.
The doors open…
My winnings?
2500 bucks, a trip to San Antonio, and FINALLY…
A brand-new motherfucking car.
A few years later: Another shot at Let’s Make A Deal. Can’t remember if their rule was 3 or 5 years in between. But, by then, the dance was clear. Do the usual lunatic act and then calm down to play. Won a trip to Chicago. Didn’t get a shot at a car.
Which brings us back to the present day…
Another decade since the last Price Is Right attempt…
Here’s the thing, guys. And I’ll be perfectly honest about this. A lot of time has gone by. Things have changed. And, frankly, it’s more embarrassing than exciting now. But it’s still a chance at a car. And I’m not in any position to say no to that. Here’s the issue…
These things tend to be on a studio lot where they film tv shows. Some of which I have been in. Price Is Right, for example, is right down the hall from a soap opera that I’ve recurred on. Which means there are people a few feet away who I’ve had working relationships with. Friends and castmates. It’s potentially very awkward.
(Editor’s note: That is certainly not intended as a brag. Just the reality of the situation. By the way, this is why I almost never mention my job in over a decade of writing posts here. There are always a few people who will get weird if I do. Which makes me feel weird. Whatever. The point is, it’s an embarrassing thing for me to do at this point. Standing in line right down the hall from people I hope I don’t run into, etc)
But, hey, it’s still a no-brainer.
When push comes to shove, it’s a chance to win a car. There’s no way I can turn that down.
So I do my Zoom and give Price Is Right yet another shot. This has been unfinished business for over two decades now. The good news? They want me on Dream Car Week (which only comes around once per year). Suddenly a very different level of opportunity. No Kias and Hyundais at this show. Last year, they gave away an Alfa Romeo, a Corvette, a Maserati, and so on.
So I decided to go to work.
I don’t know how to properly express the level of this weirdness. With a week before the show, I decided to dedicate literally every free minute to memorizing prices. I went full-on Rain Man. Binging episodes from last season, making a detailed spreadsheet, and memorizing every single item. Yes, all of them. It started with cars and just kept going.
-Egg whites? $7.49 -Heated car throw blanket? $39 -Container of parmesan? $5.49
I. Knew. Every. Single. Item.
I had it all memorized. Over 700 rows in Excel. It kind of just happened. Now all I needed was a shot at a car and I’d win one. No doubt about it. Luck would still be a big factor. But I’d reduced that down as much as I could. It was all about getting a chance to win the right prize…one with four wheels.
I asked my buddy Raja if he wanted to join. They like contestants to bring at least one friend. He jumped at the opportunity. I remember having that kind of excitement to go to game shows. But now it was all about taking care of business.
Game time…
The alarm goes off at 5:30, I’m in an Uber a few minutes later, and standing in line at the now-familiar studio lot within an hour. The waiting begins. Raja shows up and greets me with an excited hug. I immediately pull a printout from my back pocket and ask if he can quiz me.
-BMW 840i? $94,756. -Maserati Levante? $84,395. -And so on.
Raja is shocked. Wait bro, did you memorize every single car price?
Yeah, man.
And all the other items too.
After a week of this, I feel like a giant calculator. Overflowing with numbers. I don’t even need to act crazy this time. I might have actually lost my mind for real. And then other people in line start realizing what’s happening. They begin quizzing me too. In between all of their standing-in-line festivities. I get it. Game shows are for people who are just excited to be there and have fun. I really do get it. But I am not here for fun. I’m here for one reason – to win a car. And, frankly, I could use a big win right now. So while everyone else is playing around for the next 3 hours as we wait to go in…I’m working. Just as I have been, non-stop, for the last week.
We finally get to our quick little interview and I go nuts because I know that’s what they want to see. But it’s all an act. The second it’s over, I get very calm and keep focusing on my numbers.
The show begins. I’m not one of the first 4 people called down. To review, my “line buddies” were: (A) An extremely fun, young black couple who were posting playful Instagram videos for hours from the line. (B) A white older mother in a motorized scooter. Accompanied by her 20 year-old daughter. Both are very friendly. (C) A middle-aged Asian lady with an older white man who looks like a friendly Donald Sutherland. Very supportive couple who are exceptionally kind to each other. (D) A 35-ish high-energy blonde chick who I’m quite certain has killed someone at some point in her life.
The lady from A, the young daughter from B, and the old man from C all get up to bid. Each of them deep in the floating state that comes from all the lights, sounds, and excitement. The young daughter (Shelby) is particularly rattled. She means to bid $2001 and says 201 instead.
Friendly Donald Sutherland plays his game and loses.
They call another person down. Also not me. Everyone is floaty and bidding terribly. The next person loses his game too. Man, I’ll need to get called down soon to have a few shots at bidding…
And then I get called down.
Acting crazy like I know they want…a chest bump, a quick robot dance, and so on. But immediately calming down to go to work. The item up for bid? A robo vac.
Shit.
There are 9 or 10 tricky items that vary in price even for the identical brand. This is one of them. Last season, they used 4 different robo vac brands and this was the one with two prices for the exact same thing. It’s a 50/50 chance. I guess one price but it’s the other. The guy goes up and loses a Camaro.
I knew every grocery price in that game and would have won it. Fuck. That might have been my shot.
The next item for bid is a knife and cookware set. This combination was not given away last season. I throw out an educated guess and win. YES! Now I just need to be playing for a car. Come on, baby.
But…no. It’s a tool set, some Michael Kors accessories, a TV, and a ping pong table. I deflate immediately. Sure, this stuff is fine. But I’m just not here for this. Oh well, there’s still a chance at the showcase. The tool set wasn’t used last season either so I mumble out a guess and end up losing. But these prizes didn’t matter. I’ve got one chance left at the car. All my energy now moves to hoping for some luck at the wheel. If I can just get to the showcase…
In the meantime, Shelby is really struggling. In my game, her bid was $150. There hasn’t been a bidding item priced under $200 since the Nixon administration. She’s totally floating. I’m bumming hard about not getting a shot at the car but Raja is having so much fun that he gestures to Shelby between dance moves. As in, “She needs help, bro.” I walk up to her at the next commercial break and say, “Hey just look at me. I know all of these.”
Shelby looks over for the next bidding item (a trip to Carmel) and repeats the number I shout out. She wins the trip, gets on stage, and the curtain opens to reveal…a shiny black Mercedes. Oh man, I know this one too. The Camaro and Mercedes could have been mine and…instead…a knife set. But Shelby clearly needs a hand. She tries to find me but is floating hard. I put up a 4 but she can’t see around the camera. She loses the Benz.
Next up is the possibly homicidal blonde – Amber. She saw what happened last round with Shelby and asks for help too. By this time, almost everyone has realized there’s a weird rain man supernerd in the room. I give Amber the bid and she wins. Her reward? A chance to play Plinko. She looks right at me for each item and follows my hand signals perfectly. She wins each chip and ends up with $22,500.
At the commercial break, she sprints over. Yelling, “THANK YOU SO MUCH” directly into my ear from half an inch away. She’s the only winner from any of the 6 games.
My final chance arrives. But I’ll need some luck with this wheel. No memorizing can save the day now.
Dammit, I should have had a Camaro or Mercedes but played for a fucking ping pong table!
Stop. Now isn’t the time for that, dude. Stay positive. There’s one last opportunity for the day…
I spin 60 cents. Being first in line, I know I’ll need to spin again for a higher number…
And I go over.
I’m full-on crushed.
Shelby moves on to the showcase against friendly Donald Sutherland.
At least a dozen people come over to hand out handshakes and hugs. By now, everyone knows what’s happening with the rain man shit. But it’s all for naught. Somehow, I still managed to come out of this carless. Raja dances over and says we have one job left…we have to help Shelby.
Friendly Donald Sutherland passes on his showcase. Oh, wait. I think I’m really close on this one. Shelby follows my hand signals and places the bid perfectly. I don’t make eye contact with Sutherland on his turn. I don’t know his showcase as accurately and, anyway, the job is to help Shelby.
Drew Carey reads off the prices…
Holy shit, Shelby is within 98 dollars.
She wins BOTH showcases. Her handicapped mom joins her onstage and is overwhelmed by tears. They both look over and put their hands on their hearts. I’m exhausted, happy for them, and super bummed for myself all at once. A bunch of emotions.
In the room with the paperwork, 20 year-old Shelby runs over and gives me a massive hug that feels like a visit to the chiropractor. She still seems to be floating. This brand-new Audi will be her first car. Sutherland taps me on the shoulder and jokes that he could have used some help too. I laugh politely but feel pretty gutted.
Shelby and her mom ask if Raja and I want to have a celebration drink with them. Sure, why not. Everyone is on cloud nine (except for me). We walk over to the farmer’s market and order a round of drinks and food. They insist on buying our lunch and are incredibly grateful. They politely try to feel bad for me but, come on, it’s impossible for them to feel anything but excitement. As they should. They just had a $70,000 day.
It turns out they really needed a win too. Shelby’s mom broke her back 5 years ago after falling off the roof while patching a leak. Thus the scooter. She’s been on disability for $1000/month ever since. Shelby’s dad just died in December. And the mom has been trying to bounce back after heart surgery a couple months ago. These are nice people. They’ve had a rough go of it and deserve a day like this. We trade numbers and hugs as they say thanks for the 50th time.
In the end, there’s no deep lesson from my long, strange history with game shows. But I guess I did learn something along the way…
Losing sucks. But it’s better than knowing you never took your shots. And maybe that’s all we can do. Keep taking shots and hope that a few of them go down. Keep shooting in spite of all the misses. It seems like, so often, we can barely slide a piece of paper through the tiny gap between winning and losing. Even with things as random and silly as game shows. So much, big and small, seems to come down to a single moment. And a lot of those moments don’t go our way. It’s not very profound, but I guess that’s what I learned from all this wackiness. Keep shooting. Who knows what might be lurking behind the next curtain…
