Wisdom – 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 Village Idiot

I’m certainly not above reproach as I have done some stupid things in my time. I’m sure we all have. But unlike today, I didn’t go looking for stupid things to do.

No one was ever actually designated as the village idiot, although I knew a few people who could easily have qualified. No, the term was used somewhat hypothetically. For example – if I did something stupid, my parents would warn me about becoming the village idiot. At the time, most parents used the same tactic and it collectively helped us kids from doing stupid things. To be known as the village idiot was far worse than the stupid thing we were about to do and so we didn’t do it – well, most of the time.

I’m certainly not above reproach as I have done some stupid things in my time. I’m sure we all have. But unlike today, I didn’t go looking for stupid things to do. None of us did. None of us wanted to be the village idiot.

Andy Warhol once said, “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.” Well, Andy – that ‘future’ you referred to seems to have arrived when social media allowed acts of stupidity to be encouraged and admired.

Social media has provided platforms whereupon people can get attention by performing acts of stupidity. How stupid do you have to be to think that doing something stupid is something to be admired? Apparently, there are THUMBS UP buttons that are used to encourage these stupid people.

There is a popular saying – “Don’t make stupid people famous!”

So, let’s look even further into our future. For example, when will acts of stupidity become an Olympic event? Perhaps one day, universities will offer degree courses in stupidity. Who knows – perhaps I could get a PhD. in stupidity! But I think that would be stupid!

Perhaps Pamela Clare is right when she said – “There is no cure for stupid.”

Long live the village idiot, whose ideology gently steered us to make smarter decisions.

Updated May 23, 2023

The Pharmacy Phenomenon

I’m not saying we should turn our backs on modern medicines, but nor should we be too quick to dismiss traditional remedies.

For years I suffered from stomach problems – from constant discomfort to unprovoked vomiting. I was prescribed all kinds of wonder drugs. They all seem to come with a warning list as long as my arm. Besides a magnifying glass to read the super-fine print, I’d need a pharmacology degree just to pronounce some of the ingredients, let alone know if I was allergic to any of them or not. These little man-made delights seem to have more possible side effects than I can count on both hands – things like seizures and sudden death.

After talking to a colleague about my stomach troubles and the reason why I didn’t feel like going for lunch with him, he gave me the name of an acupuncturist. Until then, it hadn’t crossed my mind to seek medical help other than from the local family doctor. But I consider myself sufficiently open-minded, so I was not going to dismiss something that has been around for thousands of years or because it didn’t fall into the realm of what we consider modern medicine.

So I went to see this acupuncturist – a nice gentleman. He told me to stick my tongue out. He reached for a very large book. On every page of this cyclopedia, I noticed there were pictures of tongues – hundreds if not thousands of pictures of tongues. He found one which I assumed looked like mine. He then told me I didn’t have a stomach problem but a problem with my spleen. I’m not a biologist. Other than knowing I probably have a spleen, I don’t know what function a spleen performs or even where it’s located.

He had me lay on my back and he proceeded to stick a very fine needle into my abdomen and another in the area of my left knee. He then attached electrical leads to each needle and switched on some sort of device. There was a slight but not unpleasant sensation. While this was happening, he reached for three or four large jars that contained stuff – stuff that resembled something I’d occasionally sweep off my doorstep and walkway. He concocted a mixture from these jars and put it in a brown paper bag. He explained that when I get home, to boil this mixture in water for half an hour and then drink the then dirty brown liquid over the next three days. I did as he suggested – it tasted dreadful.

I’m not saying we should turn our backs on modern medicines, but nor should we be too quick to dismiss traditional remedies. I received that one-time treatment over thirty years ago, and since then, I have never experienced any more problems with my stomach or my spleen.

Tell me your thoughts on medicines in the comments below.

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.

If you enjoyed this story, please leave a like or a comment. Or perhaps share it.

The Stories We Tell

In recent years, it would seem that we have forgotten or ignored the importance of passing on knowledge to our young. Instead, we farm out that responsibility to institutions that try to cram as much information into closed minds as possible.

Throughout history, we have told stories as a means of passing on knowledge and wisdom to the next generation. The Greek storyteller, Aesop [560BC], is credited with writing a host of tales that have been repeated over and over throughout the centuries. Aesop’s Fables, as they are known, were written and told to help teach the young the ways of our kind. My parents would read these fables to me and explain their meanings. Of course, I had my favourites, and although they seemed like simple stories, I understood the meanings behind them. These simple tales have subtly guided and protected me all my life.

Had my parents just told me to do something, it would have gone in one ear and out the other, to quote an old expression. However, when these teachings are wrapped in a story, we become intrigued, our minds are opened wide, and our imagination is invoked. Soon, these thoughts become embedded in our memory, and that’s when they start to have a positive influence on our lives.

When I was at school, I had my favourite subjects – history was not one of them. BORING! Chanting names of Kings, Queens and dates, and battles and more dates. I hated history with a passion.

Then I went to secondary school, and oh no! – more history lessons! I was not looking forward to this.

It was my first history lesson at this new school and with a new teacher, and I was all prepared to be bored stupid. The teacher started to draw a map on the board. First, he drew a river. Then he drew some huts at the side of the river, while all the time explaining how dwellers settled there and why. Each history lesson followed from where the last one left off. Soon there were other pathways and more buildings, and then there was a ferry that crossed the river to the other side. Every lesson got more interesting than the last. This went on until the area became a meeting place with markets, plus more and more buildings were being erected. Our whole class was engrossed in the growth of this settlement that eventually grew into a town.

Just before the end of term – it suddenly stuck us – this was OUR town – wow! Up until then, we just took the town for granted. The teacher then took us on a walking tour around the town and it was a fascinating experience.

I still can’t remember or even care how many wives King Henry VIII had, but I do know more about that town than any other place where I grew up. Why? Because that teacher told us a story.

What is your favourite childhood story, and what did you learn from it?

Think

All this talk about thinking got me thinking about thinking. What is it that we think about? Once I started to think about it, apparently it seems that I think about lots of things.

This was many years ago – the company I was working for had, for whatever reason, decided to move its computer operations to a new data centre. I was part of a team invited to a tour of the new facilities.

As we were shown around the offices, I couldn’t help but notice that standing on every employee’s desk was a small folded card. The word – THINK – was printed in bold letters on both sides of the card. I was somewhat perplexed, so I asked what they were for. With some patronising overtones, I was enthusiastically told – like this was some super gift to mankind – that they were there to remind people to think. I got the feeling that I had just been given a peek inside the doors of the inner circle, and I should have felt honoured!

Perhaps these cards were a gimmicky desk-top version of the proverbial “Thinking Cap”. The thought crossed my mind that maybe they should also remind these same people to breathe since they were incapable of thinking by themselves. This company unashamedly flaunted the notion they only hire the very best, so I just wondered where they found so many non-thinkers.

The French philosopher Rene Descartes once said, “I think, therefore I am.” So, since these sorry souls at this company needed to be reminded to think, I deduced that the cards were perhaps a humanitarian effort to prevent them from a life of non-existence.

Sometime after that experience, which incidentally was my only memory of that tour, I heard the expression, “Think outside the Box”.

Wow! Really?

Did that same company invent that little gem – an upgrade to Version 2, perhaps?

Not only do we have to prompt people to think so they can exist, but we also have to supply them with boxes to help them think. Perhaps the practice of thinking outside the box was a step towards weening them off their life-threatening dependence upon boxes.

That’s when I started to think about Schrodinger’s Cat! Would the cat inside the box be thinking about whether it was alive or dead? Or as Schrodinger pointed out, would anyone thinking outside the box know if the cat was either dead or alive, or even what it was thinking. It’s all too quantum.

Hercule Poirot, a character created by Agatha Christie, would frequently remind his associate, Captain Hastings, to use the ‘little grey cells’, referring to the brain. Perhaps it is time to throw away the prompts, the virtual caps, and all the silly boxes, and start using our little grey cells.

All this talk about thinking got me thinking about thinking. What is it that we think about? Once I started to think about it, apparently, it seems that I think about lots of things. Perhaps I’m just paranoid about the Descartes Effect – if I stop thinking, I might just fade away.

But let’s get serious for a moment. Here is what I often think about –

What and Why. These are the analytical question.
When and Where. These are the investigative questions.
Who and How. These are the solution questions.

In the comments below, tell me what you think.

Brass Monkeys

Wisdom comes in many forms, but for the most part, we fail to acknowledge it. Symbolism helps us make that important connection.

My mum came home from shopping one day and showed me what she had bought. As she unwrapped some brass things, she said they would brighten up the place. Then she unwrapped three little brass monkeys. One monkey had its hands over its ears, another with its hands over its mouth, and the third one had its hands over its eyes.

They were fascinating. What are they I asked.

My dad explained that people will gossip and tell tales about others. He went on to say that the monkey with its hands over its ears was a reminder to not listen to idle tittle-tattle. He added that people who gossip about others will also gossip about them the moment their backs are turned.

My mum always told me that if I didn’t have anything good to say about someone, to keep my mouth shut! She said the monkey with its hands over its mouth is there to remind us of the hurt we can bring to others by spreading nasty stories, especially if they were not true.

I asked my mum and dad about the monkey with its hands over its eyes. They said there are people who are so miserable they can only see misery. They said the monkey with hands over its eyes is to remind us not to look for unnecessary misery otherwise we will become miserable also.

I like monkeys!