The Vegas highrollers – friends, if for the evening only – had a “no fail” system, and they (and their money) were backing me.
It was a sure thing. My number was coming in…
Like so many starry eyed bachelorettes, I hit the tables at The Mirage in hopes of striking it rich – or at least of making a hundred bucks. I’d held on to my chips all evening, afraid of letting go of my sure thing, even though, by letting go, there was at least a chance of obtaining something better. And then I remembered something I’d seen in one of my favorite episodes of “Sex and the City.”
Carrie Bradshaw is turning 36. A Big City writer at a life precipice, she decides to join her girlfriends for a trip to Atlantic City, where a lucky roll of the dice has her palming a $1,000 chip. Her friends tell her to risk it – you gotta play to play! – but, much like with the other life choices she faces, Carrie is hesitant. What if she makes a mistake? What if she loses it all to a throw of the dice?
She approaches the roulette table and notices the final number is 36. “What happens after 36?,” she asks the table master. “I guess you fall off the table,” he responds.
With a deep breath, Carrie puts all her money on 36 – and, symbolically, on herself.
She loses the $1,000.
Friends, we never really know what’s going to happen when all bets are in. Once the ball is rolling, the outcome is out of our hands. But even in betting one thing is sure: you have to show up to get the ball rolling… and that’s exactly what I have decided to do.
I have loved my time at American City & County, but, all cards on the table – it’s time for me to place my bet. Like Carrie, I must bet on myself, even if I lose.
So I have accepted another position and, by the time you read these lines, the roulette wheel will already be in motion.
Friends, we can spend our lives playing the game, hoping for something better. Or we can hold onto our chips, afraid to lose. I won’t say I’m not afraid, (turns out the Vegas highrollers’ “no fail” plan not only could fail, but did) but I will say this: it’s been a pleasure serving you, and my hopes for your future remain as high as my hopes for my own. I hope these past 2+ years of content have paid you positive dividends. They certainly have for me, and, as I play this particular hand, I know the value of the chip I’m placing on the table. What I don’t know yet – and what I really stand to learn with this gamble – is the value of willing myself back into the game and expecting, even for a moment, that I might just win big.