Playing Poker While Leaving All Your Cards Face Down

[liadnan]

Just as Cairo Martyr did. (Many points to anyone who recognises the reference without googling.)

I've been vaguely toying with a post about free will, determinism, and seizing the day for a while now, on and off, but it always came out incoherent and, frankly, pretentious bollocks. I meant to write about how I become genuinely angry when people (such as my mother) take horoscopes or the prophecies of Nostradamus or the general idea of a knowable pre-determined fate even semi-seriously, and then vaguely wander via theology and my really very superficial grasp of quantum physics (if one allows for the sake of argument the existence of an omnipresent and omniscient god, who is both within the universe and time and yet not constrained by it, and who is therefore there at all times observing within Schrodinger's box, what does that do to the whole sort of general mishmash, and can we stop Dan Simmmons writing another science fiction novel about it before I do?) to the way I gamble with my life.

Not ordinary gambling. Well, a bit on horses, and cards as well sometimes. But real gambling. I can say with complete honesty that my current career is a massive gamble taken one morning when I awoke with a monumental hangover in my cold room in Oxford, in early 1999, after a drunken evening with a friend who suggested I might be good at it. And the dice haven't stopped rolling yet on that one, so it's all his fault.

I do this kind of thing because, semi-consciously and occasionally in recent weeks for obvious reasons, quite explicitly and consciously, I remember that what talents I have, and the place I grew up and my friends and family and education, and everything that goes to make me "me" are in the end a fairly random hand of cards, and that I don't know whether I'll live through tomorrow, so why not risk it all in the hope of making something of it? Maybe it'll pay out, maybe not, but at least I tried while I could. Not because anything's written, despite this -I have less than ten years, apparently-, but precisely because I don't believe it's written, or at least, not written in a script anyone can read. Tomorrow some bonkers zealot may get into my tube carriage. Or they may miss it because someone held up the lift at the last minute. So, I tell myself from time to time, get on with living for today while you can, and don't miss things because you were scared of it all going wrong. (Which includes making sure you're a decent human being today, because you might not have the chance to do so tomorrow just as much it does pure hedonism.) Obviously this can have the unhelpful result of finding difficulty in paying the second installment of your income tax when you find that in fact you have somehow made it through to that grim day, but you can't have everything.

Or so I thought. But, you see, I'm not going to Paris.

Perhaps I should expand. I was supposed to be meeting some of the usual suspects for a drink this evening. But before I did so I went for a late afternoon/early evening amble with Frankie round Oxford Street winding up at the Cork and Bottle, and as a result of missed phone calls and the like I didn't manage to meet them until one of them rang, their voice slightly slurred, while I was in Sainsburys around 9

"Hello," they said. "We've decided to go to Paris on the Eurostar tonight. Would you like to come?"

And I thought for a moment, just a moment, because, tonight, I do actually have the cash in my bank account. All those bills don't fall due for another week yet, and who knows whether any of us will make it that far?

And then I said "No", and agreed to meet at Waterloo to collect keys so I can feed the cats instead. Heigh ho. Sometimes you have to give seizing the day a miss. And after all, who else was going to feed the cats?

ETA: Turns out they didn't go in the end. Ah well.

Comments

[rparvaaz.livejournal.com]

I'll probably have more to say later, but right now I am upset that the death clock refuses to tell me when I'll die. All it says is that my BMI is 23 and my category is 'desirable'. Useless information.

[frankie-ecap.livejournal.com]

I think the response of all the men surrounding you makes quite clear that your category is 'desirable'.

[rparvaaz.livejournal.com]

I can't really argue with that but I don't quite accept it either. I think it has something to do with my mental image of myself.

[frankie-ecap.livejournal.com]

I think the 'I think of myself as restrained and delicate' riff established that your self-image is not congruent with the way others see you.

[rparvaaz.livejournal.com]

V.good point. Will cease worrying about the dichotomy and just file things under 'People are weird'.

[frankie-ecap.livejournal.com]

An essential and useful (although somewhat over-large) filing cabinet.

[dr-lovely.livejournal.com]

Woooo! They went to Paris. Sounds cool.

[dr-lovely.livejournal.com]

And it's not that far I guess...

[liadnan]

Actually by the time they met me at Waterloo the last Eurostar had gone, so they were going to try for the 5.30 AM

[itchyfidget.livejournal.com]

Cool idea, but yeah, someone has to feed the cats. Jealous of the proximity to Paris, down there. Less jealous about the idea of getting on the Tube regularly.

[liadnan]

That honestly doesn't bother me. I'm more frustrated by the fact I seem to have to come up with a new and original route every day, and stopping all the time because of alerts, than I am feared of an actual bomb in my carriage. Remarkably well-developed ostrich-tendency, that's what keeps London going these days.

[itchyfidget.livejournal.com]

I think you have to ostrich, because the psychological alternatives would very quickly lead to widespread social meltdown. As I understand it, this is what happens in war zones - people just get on with it, because the alternative is to go mad.

[fairymelusine.livejournal.com]

It's a fine line, honestly, between the gambles that are worth it and those that aren't. Or, rather, between deciding which gambles to take. I mean, there are a thousand things we could choose to do in a day - and you can't take the path less travelled in every instance. Your ability to execute the chosen gambles is often determined in part by your not, erm, (insert orgasmic metaphor here - i can't think of a delicate way to say it otherwise) on something that's not worth it.

So sometimes you live life to its fullest and run away to Paris in the middle of the night, and sometimes you feed the cats. And, in my opinion, the better lived life is the one that mixes the two up a bit.

[liadnan]

Ah, but which is which....?

[fairymelusine.livejournal.com]

I suppose that's the question, and one that can't be easily reasoned out. I guess the idea is that when something unexpected happens you remember that you have the ability to go see it through, and take it if something in your gut tells you so.

When's the last time you did something unexpected?

[liadnan]

Oh Lord, I dunno. Which makes me feel rather sad...

[fairymelusine.livejournal.com]

Well okay then. Maybe this means that next time the cats should be fed by someone else?

[sobelle.livejournal.com]

It appears that if you DO live long enough and avoid open windows and the general undertow of life, you might find yourself at the point I have... strangely enough I have found moderate contentment...

Whoda thought it?

Having indulged in much risky behavior during the "wild years" and then committing to being a parent [another unplanned departure from my "Original Life Plan"]... I find the birdies having long left the nest and I am cautiously optomistic with my future ~vague~ plans... probably helps that I've always embraced my multiple personalities so I don't find solitude lonely...

I still get out and about... while I can... and if *I* want to... because I do know that my clock is ticking down [death clock results notwithstanding] and my friends [of my age] are ruminating on impending decrepitude and death... and considering options...

Life's always been a big adventure to me... So far the "big bus grill with my name on it" has missed me and I figure that's a combination of skill and great good luck...

No advice here...

[blonde222.livejournal.com]

you should have gone, but not to Paris. Paris yawn (and bad losers). What about Gdansk on the train, that would be more fun. Or Capri. Or Iceland.

[liadnan]

Agree about Paris but none of those appeal. And Capri is just bloody awful. Beiruit or Damascus more in my line.