Stories – Stop! Restart!

How to Win Like a Loser

We often burn too much time and energy trying to win when all it takes is to make sure we do not lose!

In my younger days, I used to play squash. I had a membership to a racquet club and played at least four or five times a week. But there was one player who managed to beat me every time I played him. For those who are unfamiliar with the sport – it’s a ball and racquet game played between two people in an enclosed court. A match consists of winning 3 games out of 5. This player always beat me 3 games to zero every time. I was never able to take even one game.

It was frustrating because there was no reason for me not to win – or at least win some of the games. He wasn’t an exceptional player. He had no special gift or technique. I used to watch him play other people just to study his game. I thought of ways to take my game to the next level. Nothing worked! So why could I not get at least one game from this player?

One evening, I met up with a friend over a burger and a beer. It so happens that this friend was the one who had originally introduced me to the game of squash. During the course of the evening, I mentioned this particular player. My friend listened intently to my frustrations and then said something that changed my whole outlook on life.

He told me to stop trying to win!

Duh! WHAT!?

He went on to say that trying to win was obviously not working! He suggested that instead of trying to win, I should concentrate on not losing!

Now, I gave this a lot of thought and realised, ironically, ‘winning’ and ‘not losing’ yielded the same result. So armed with this newfound insight, I changed my strategy. In the past, whenever it was my turn to play the ball, I invariably tried for a winning shot. It soon became apparent that this was a complete and utter waste of time and effort. Instead, I started to play, not to win the round per se, but to make it as difficult as possible for my opponent to play a winning shot. Better still – if I placed the ball such that he could not hit the ball to the front wall, I had won the round regardless and with very little effort.

A few weeks later, I signed up for a club tournament. I breezed through the first two rounds of the tournament, and as luck would have it, I was drawn against this particular player in the third round. This was the player from whom I had never won a game, never mind a match.

It was a tough match, and he did win the match. However, the score was 3-2. Yes! For the very first time, I had won not only one game from him but two games. Deservingly, he went on to win the tournament, but nonetheless, I managed to win two games from him – all because I played to not lose.

This lesson went on to serve me well in life. We often burn too much time and energy trying to win when all it takes is to make sure we do not lose!

The Price of Happiness

We all want to be happy but very often, we settle for things that just make us happy. If we opened our minds, we will see that happiness is searching for us.

This is a story about a gypsy and his secret of happiness.

Everybody was talking about the gypsy. My sister and I listened to the women folk as they stood in twos and threes out front – arms crossed and gossiping to each other, each adding their version to the many rumours that were going around about the gypsy. All this did was fuel our curiosity, so despite our mother’s warning to stay away, we went to see the gypsy for ourselves.

In the corner of the field, near the canal, there stood a beautiful gypsy caravan. It was painted in bright colours, reds, blues and greens, and it had carved scrolls painted in bright yellows. Yellow was my favourite colour. My sister liked blue.

The most striking thing about the caravan was how clean it was, as though it had just been freshly painted. Even the wheels were shiny and spotless.

As we ventured closer, I noticed a lot of brass things on the caravan, and they were brightly polished. ‘This must have taken a lot of work,’ I thought. I remembered times when I helped my mum polish the brass stuff at home, so I knew how much work was needed to keep it shining bright.

The top half of the door to the caravan was open. Also, smoke was coming from a chimney pipe sticking out of the caravan’s roof.

“There’s somebody inside,” I said to my sister.

She looked at the smoke and said, “Yes. There must be a stove inside to cook with.”

I didn’t think so, but my sister said that the gypsy had to eat, and if he ate, then he must have a stove. It made sense, but I couldn’t imagine having a stove in such a small place.

My sister was the first to spot the horse, which was no wonder – she liked horses. It was further up the field near where the old tree used to be. It was a big horse, the type that had lots of hair growing around its feet. We were still edging closer to the caravan to get a better look when the bottom half of the caravan door opened, and a man stepped out – it was the gypsy.

He looked old. He had dark sunburnt skin and he wore bright clothes. He saw us, smiled and said, “Why, hello!”

We stood our ground not saying a word. I couldn’t remember if I smiled back or not, but nonetheless, the old gypsy casually went about his business. Just then, a black and white dog appeared from the caravan and stood in the doorway. It looked a bit like my nanna’s dog, but I’d never seen a dog like this one before – its eyes were different colours. One eye light and the other one was dark. The dog just stood there and looked at us.

The old gypsy walked down the steps and waved for us to come and have a closer look at his caravan. He seemed very proud of it.

His dog came down the steps and sat beside his master, and the horse slowly walked over to him and nudged him with his nose. My sister and I laughed. There was something very close between the three of them. We moved closer, and the dog came towards us, wagging his tail – actually, his whole body seemed to wag. We both patted the dog, who then walked back to his master. We followed.

“Who are you?” asked my sister politely.

“I’m an old wanderer,” answered the gypsy.

“Are you eighty-four yet?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he answered. “But what a strange question.”

“Are you happy?” asked my sister.

“My, what a lot of questions,” he said with a laugh in his voice. “Yes, I’m the happiest man alive.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because, my young squire, I know the secret of happiness.”

“What is it?” asked my sister.

“It’s the greatest secret on earth, but I will share it with you both if you promise me one thing.”

My sister and I looked at each other, and without saying anything, we agreed, nodding our heads.

“You must promise to help and share your good fortune with others less fortunate. You must promise to be good so that others can follow your example. You must promise to be kind and show pity to all creatures. Do you promise?”

“Yes!” we agreed simultaneously.

He took from his pocket two old pennies and gave one to each of us. “Take these pennies, for they shall bring you good luck.”

We took the lucky pennies and held them tight in our hands.

“And now for my side of the bargain – the greatest secret on earth – the secret of happiness. I’m the happiest man in the whole world because I have everything I could ever want.”

“You do?” inquired my sister.

“Yes! I have a place to rest my weary head,” as he turned and with his hand gestured towards his caravan. “I have a faithful friend to take me whenever and wherever I want to travel,” he said as he stroked his horse. “I have a faithful companion to look after me and watch over me as I sleep at night,” he continued, patting his dog. The dog pushed closer up beside him. “And, my fine prince and princess, I be in fine health. I have dined with kings and I have slept amongst beggars. I have loved and have been loved by the most beautiful of women, and I have watched my children play in the fields. I have listened to the wisdom of the elders and I have been granted the opportunity to teach the young. I owe no man and no man owes me. I am who I am and no man has reason to try to change who I am, nor I him. I have the power to make myself happy and I seek no reason to be sad. When I am alone, I am in good company and when I am with others I share my happiness with them. I have a good meal on my table every day and enough to share with my companions and friends – enough to share with the beasts of the fields, titbits to throw to the birds in the sky and crumbs to feed to the fish in the river. I use only what I need and waste nothing. I make friends as I go and leave them with something to remember me by. I have the world within my reach but I own only the things that I can carry. What more could a man ask for?”

“Why did you come here?” asked my sister.

“Is this not a beautiful place to visit? Are you not worthy of my time? Do you not deserve to share my secrets?”

Just then we heard our mother calling us. She was at the side of the field waving. We turned to leave, but as we did so we both stopped, turned back and said goodbye to the old gypsy.

The next day, the field was empty. The gypsy had gone.

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I Want to Ride my Bicycle

The next thing I know, I was lying on the ground looking up at a lot of people looking down at me lying on the ground. This was obviously not a good thing.

For most kids, learning to ride a bicycle is a right of passage. I was no different. I had long outgrown my tricycle and I wanted a bike, a bike with two wheels – a real bike!

One day, to my complete surprise, my dad came home with a bicycle – it was for me. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t pretty. But it was mine! I was thrilled because I never thought I would ever have my own bike.

After lots of failed attempts, I finally got the hang of keeping balance as long as kept pedalling. Once I had mastered the art of coming to a stop without not falling off, my dad decided to take me for a bike ride. It was just him and me. Me and my dad! I was on top of the world. Off we went riding side by side.

After a while, we stopped at the side of the street and he told me to wait while he crossed the road to go into a shop. I think he was going to buy some cigarettes. I remember him telling me to wait, but after a while I was tired of waiting and so decided to cross the road.

I got hit by a car.

The next thing I know, I was lying on the ground looking up at a lot of people looking down at me lying on the ground. This was obviously not a good thing. So I did what seemed natural at the time – I decided to cry.

Somehow my dad managed to get me and both of our bikes back home where I ran into the house and told my mum I had been run over by a car. My dad corrected me and told my mum I got ‘hit’ by a car.

But this isn’t about riding a bike, or about the dangers of other vehicles. It’s not even about me ignoring my dad’s instructions. It’s about what happened next.

Here’s the interesting part.

A few days later, there was a knock at the door. It was the man who had been driving the car – the car I had ridden in front of. Out of concern, he had come by to see if I was alright. Dad invited him in and they chattered while my mum made a pot of tea.

Then my dad told me to tell the man that I was sorry for what I had done. Let that sink in for a moment! It had been my fault and therefore I had to apologise.

Today, we are warned from a legal perspective to never say sorry, citing that it can be construed as an admission of guilt. I have bumped into doorposts and instinctively said sorry – it’s what we do. Things like this are sewn into our very fibre. I’m reminded of a line from my favourite Star Trek series – ‘Star Trek Enterprise’ – “We can’t save humanity without holding on to what makes us human.”

In that moment I was taught that we are accountable for our actions. If we don’t learn this early enough in life, we would grow up believing we are can do whatever we want without consequence. I may apologise to the odd door post or two, but I’m not sorry if this if this offends anyone.