Quitting Something You Are Good At Is Never Easy

I debated long and hard about writing about this in a public forum.  Part of me says that what I am about to divulge is too much information.  But, another part of me, my gut – the part I trust the most – tells me that if I am truly going to be of service, if I am truly going to be the person that I want to be, then I have to be willing to lay it all out there for everyone to see. 

Since about December 2004, I have had a love/hate relationship with the game of poker.  I first started playing when I watched someone who had experienced some success playing the game on the Internet.  As I watched him, I saw that poker, unlike most forms of gambling, was not completely a game of chance.  I saw that with a little patience, and a willingness to learn, one could actually regularly make money playing the game.  It took about one year’s worth of patience for me.  And then I had an incredible win streak for about six months.  In that time, I won over $10,000 – playing mostly small buy-in tourneys.  Thinking I was on the verge of poker stardom, I used my increased bankroll to buy in to larger tourneys because they were still “within my bankroll.”  I had learned that you should never enter a tourney that costs more than 1% of your bankroll, so, except for a few modest exceptions, I stayed under that limit.  Then, for four months, I won nothing.  I watched as my bankroll dwindled and dwindled, and I watched myself slide back into the lower buy-in games where it still seemed like I would hit brick wall after brick wall.  My self-esteem plunged and, admittedly, my work suffered.  I made a decision to quit playing on my own and I did stop for about four months. 

However, the pull of my past successes soon dragged me back to the game.  I slowly built my bankroll back up from $0 to $1200 over the course of six months playing, again, mostly small buy-in games.  For the next four months, I stagnated again and found myself with a bankroll of around $800. 

At this time, it became clear to me that poker was literally sucking the life out of me.  My family could tell that I was not mentally myself.  I had become a computer hermit – spending all of my free time in front of my computer playing internet poker.  I didn’t have time for anything else.  I joked that “Poker is my wife, I mean my life.”  I might as well have been married to the game.  I didn’t want to spend time with my family, I didn’t want to date, and, when I had my son, I couldn’t wait till he fell asleep at night. 

At this time, I decided to start attending a local Gamblers Anonymous (GA) meeting.  I attended for ten months.  Once again, poker’s nasty grip pulled me right back into the game.  Once again, I experienced a steady increase in my bankroll until I had, what was for me, my biggest cash – I came in second place for a prize of over $5,000.  Unlike my previous experience (I wanted to make myself believe I was becoming a more responsible poker player), I cashed most of this out and paid off some bills.  I kept a modest amount in my bankroll and continued to play low buy-in games.  But as is wont to happen, I once again stagnated.  As had always happened during these times of stagnation, my depression sunk incredibly low.  Though I never found myself losing money, meaning I was always playing within my bankroll (thankfully!), I still didn’t feel like the person I once had been.  Poker literally ruled my every waking moment.  If I wasn’t playing poker, I was thinking about it.  I was thinking about how soon could I get things done so that I could get back to my computer and get rolling again.  Most nights I fell asleep depressed once again.  One little known fact about poker is that even winning players are considered very successful if they win only one percent of their games.  Even if you know that is good, winning such a small percentage of the time takes its toll.

One thing that I did find was that if I went home, no work was going to get done.  So, my classroom became a refuge of sorts.  Unlike other teachers, I would stay in my classroom (after I’d become a teacher) and do all my work.  The benefit of this was that gambling of any kind, including poker, was blocked on my school computer (thank goodness!)  I would stay in my classroom so late (sometimes the night custodian would have to kick me out because he had to set the alarm!), that it would be too late for me to start playing games at home.  Invariably, however, I still find time to play.  Of course, it was easy to do since the money was already in my account. 

My biggest problem with the game of poker is that I am good at it.  If I had been losing money instead, I would have just quit playing.  Or at least, I would have just played the free poker.  But because I was good, because I knew that I usually made money, and, ironically, because it was “cheaper” than other forms of entertainment such as reading books, going out for iced tea, or watching movies, I have always been drawn back to the game.  I could usually depend on making at least a couple hundred extra dollars a month playing the particular game that was my best game.  But if I did other things, then I was losing money.

But I still didn’t like who I’d become through the game of poker.  I started playing just so I could make money – not because I enjoyed it.  That is the wrong reason to do anything.

After taking another three month break from the game, I started playing again a month ago.  I liked who I was during those three months.  After I started playing again, I saw the same things happening to me.  I did not feel like myself even though I was winning money again. 

Part of me says, hey, as long as you are winning money, why not keep playing?  Then the other part of me, the gut part of me says, you need to get away from this and do what you really want to do – write. 

So that is what I am doing – I am quitting poker, again.  I will be honest – I can’t see myself staying away from this game forever.  Who wants to stop doing something that you are actually good at – no matter how unhealthy it may be.  My sincere desire is to replace this unhealthy habit with something that is actually healthy; writing is healthy. 

Writing soothes my soul.  It calms my nerves.  It solves my problems.  I can just sit down and start writing about a problem I am having, and the answer will come to me from spirit, to soul, to hand, to pen, to paper.  I can’t explain it, I just know it happens.  I need to do it more. 

What it comes right down to is – would I rather be rich or happy?  Well, if being rich means draining my soul and losing my will to exist as a human being, then I choose being happy.  Once upon a time, I did think that I could be happy playing poker – but now I know that I cannot.  In GA, it is said that gambling is a “baffling, insidious disease.”  It truly is.  What other disease is there where you can actually win money yet feel the same way one does when they drink, do drugs or overeat?  Admittedly, I don’t know those last three from experience, but I have heard from others in my GA meetings who say there is really no difference.  Now I believe it.  Anything that sucks the life out of you, whatever the destructive behavior, has got to be bad.

So, I have withdrawn my bankroll from the Internet – the check is on the way.  My poker account balance stands at zero, but I already feel my life balance increasing in value.  Wish me luck!

Here is a quote I read on Twitter today that I thought many of you could appreciate:

Everything is okay in the end, if it’s not okay, then it’s not the end.