jchrisobrien (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jchrisobrien) wrote2005-02-25 12:00 pm
jchrisobrien) wrote2005-02-25 12:00 pm
Weak End in Baltimore: or, the Fickleness of Fate
The best (and most interesting for the rest of you) light to view the Grand Tournament in is to talk about Fate. A force beyond your control, randomness.
I'm talking about dice. Dice are random things. Games based on dice make for a great metaphor for life. You can design your army for maximum efficiency, and have the tactical acumen of a master general. You can have a blueprint for your life, knowing which school you want to attend and what jobs you want afterwards. But you have as much control over how the dice roll as you do over the curves that life can throw you. All you can control is how you respond to those curves.
You can smile when your plan and the universe are in synch.
You can laugh as your best laid plans are dashed against the rocks.
You can grimace and persevere, overcoming the worst of bad luck but not qutie succeeding.
You can take satisfaction in being overmatched and outmaneuverd but doing your best, and making the other person sweat a little.
And sometimes, you have to just suck it up and take it on the chin in emotionless, detached resignation.
That, in a nutshell, is how the Grand Tournament was for me.
Good times were had outside the convention center too. We feasted like kings at the Ocean Reef, where I amused the hell out of my friends by polishing off a bottle of fine red wine. The dancers at The Night Shift beat those at Centerfolds hands down. And despite how many times I do it, I never get tired of taking off in a plane. The feel of the rumbling wheels, the full speed press you into your seat throttle, and that sudden shift from lumbering motion to pure and heavenly flight. The earth tipping away beneath you. The web of lights spreading out dimmer and dimmer as you hurtle into the sky.
Magical stuff.
I'm talking about dice. Dice are random things. Games based on dice make for a great metaphor for life. You can design your army for maximum efficiency, and have the tactical acumen of a master general. You can have a blueprint for your life, knowing which school you want to attend and what jobs you want afterwards. But you have as much control over how the dice roll as you do over the curves that life can throw you. All you can control is how you respond to those curves.
You can smile when your plan and the universe are in synch.
You can laugh as your best laid plans are dashed against the rocks.
You can grimace and persevere, overcoming the worst of bad luck but not qutie succeeding.
You can take satisfaction in being overmatched and outmaneuverd but doing your best, and making the other person sweat a little.
And sometimes, you have to just suck it up and take it on the chin in emotionless, detached resignation.
That, in a nutshell, is how the Grand Tournament was for me.
Good times were had outside the convention center too. We feasted like kings at the Ocean Reef, where I amused the hell out of my friends by polishing off a bottle of fine red wine. The dancers at The Night Shift beat those at Centerfolds hands down. And despite how many times I do it, I never get tired of taking off in a plane. The feel of the rumbling wheels, the full speed press you into your seat throttle, and that sudden shift from lumbering motion to pure and heavenly flight. The earth tipping away beneath you. The web of lights spreading out dimmer and dimmer as you hurtle into the sky.
Magical stuff.