There is an old Latin phrase: “Carpe’ Diem.” It means “Seize the Day.” Every morning, we have the option to carpe’ on that day, or to crape’ on it, if you know what I mean. Some people see the day as an opportunity for something good, and the rest are busy estimating the damage. It took me years to formulate my own special fragrance of negativism toward life, and just as long to rid myself of its stench. Actually, it was a crude mixture of skepticism, cynicism and pessimism, but whatever it was, it gave off a bad odor, one I’m still working on fumigating myself from. In any event, the air around me is much sweeter these days, and I’m a lot closer to carpe’ ing the day, than I was back in the diem.
Asperger Syndrome has provided me many strange quirks, but I truly think that I got this “negativism” thing the honest way: I learned it from my mother. But that’s another story for another blog. Let me jump forward to the time when I first realized I had graduated into the realm of personal responsibility.
It was in the Spring of 1975. I’ll never forget the morning I looked out on an overcast sky and said something derogatory about it. A friend, who was with me at the time, responded with a more positive outlook. Here we were, the two of us, being poured the same stale cup of morning, but my friend was willing to drink it to the dregs, while I was preparing to toss it out like last week’s leftovers. I bookmark that day in my life (at the ripe age of twenty-five) as a real turning point. Though there was no visible sun to speak of, right then and there it dawned on me that I was laboring under a terribly negative attitude. An attitude I was readily willing to foist upon anyone within foisting distance. But one thing was sure; I wanted to change. And from that moment forward, I set my sights on doing just that.
Of course, for every phobia and emotional condition, there is a source. And along with my mother’s empirical influence, I must place some of the blame for my spiral into negativism on a frivolous game. When I was a kid, my friends and I used to play Monopoly. It seemed like I never won. Though I tried and tried, I could never manage it. We could play all night and I’d never win. My brother told me that how you win or lose at Monopoly, is how your life will turn out. Being the little idiot I was, I believed him. Painfully so. Some people read tea leaves, others follow the stars. I gauged my future success or failure on the outcome of a board game. Imagining the dismal state of my life in the future, it appeared that I was doomed from the word GO. And like Brick on the sit-com “The Middle” (ABC, Wednesdays, 7:30pm Central), you might imagine me burying my head in my chest and whispering the word “dooooomed”.
This negativism grew from adolescence into my teen years and beyond. But after experiencing that little collision with optimism as an adult, I decided to confront my darkest fear by facing my old nemesis head-on. Only this time, with a new sense of Carpe’ Diem. Not surprisingly, Monopoly soon became my game of choice. And, if you’ve been reading glitchbucket.com for long, you know what that means: Obsession! From that time forward, one thing you could count on like rain at a picnic, was that on any special occasion: Birthdays, Christmas, Fourth of July, and for every available opening on the calendar, the word Monopoly would be penciled in.
Actually, at the drop of a hat (a little metal hat, that is), I was ready to drag out the whole cadre of gear and roll the dice once again. I bought and combined old used sets to assure there’d always be plenty of money and buildings in reserve. Acquiring them became a quest. And typical of my modus operandi, I routinely roped every victim I could find, to warm the chairs around the table. Feeding this addiction, friends and family routinely lavished me with new and more exotic versions, including a 1935 Tin Box Commemorative Edition, and a Retro Dove-Tail Wooden Box Set, with vintage square-fold board, and wooden houses. WOW!
As my adult tastes began to influence my attitudes toward the game, I began to develop a few preferences. Personally, I like to play it with men. I’m sure there are a few women out there who love to participate in a lengthy and rousing free-for-all, all-hands-in, no-holds-bared kind of street fight, but in my experience, Monopoly is best played with those with relatively thick skin; those who can yell at each other, and cut each other’s throats when necessary; those who don’t get antsy when the game goes long, and don’t tend to take it personally when some money-grubbing landlord is carpe’ing all their property; all the while remaining best friends, eagerly anticipating the next brawl with devilish delight. Of course, any woman ready to embrace that kind of pain, is more than welcome at my table.
But the $200 question is, did I win at Monopoly after my outlook on life so dramatically improved? Are you kidding? Of course not. In fact, I still lose more often than not, but I have grown to love the sheer adventure of both the game of Monopoly and the game of life. The camaraderie of laughing, crying, rejoicing with those who win, and supporting those who lose… well it just doesn’t get any sweeter than that.
In fact, Monopoly is the very epitome of optimism in my books. Yet another chance to roll the dice and make the best out of where it leads you. Life really is a lot like that game, but I no longer take the outcome of either, quite as serious these days. It’s how you play that counts, and I have always attempted to play (win or lose), with as much integrity and honesty as I can possibly muster. And that makes life, and Monopoly, a whole lot more enjoyable.
Here’s a little tip that might just make your next marathon even better: The first Monopoly player to bankrupt becomes the banker. The second player out, takes over the real-estate office. That way, everyone stays involved right down to the last “I just landed on Boardwalk with two hotels and nothing in my pocket but a pink five-spot and a beat up ‘get out of jail’ card.”
Carpe’ Diem, and Vale, lacerte.
