I don’t play chess — I’m more of a poker guy myself.
If you’re a betting man, as I am, you know that life has a way of leading you to your last bet.
You fail and you fail, and you lose everything — the money, the name, the reputation, the friends, the family. And after all that, your self-respect runs out the door.
Rock bottom — you sweet symphony of silence — finally, we meet.
Curiously enough, you were waiting for despair, and yet, out of nowhere, freedom shows up.
I’ve never felt lighter.
After all that, you make your last bet — the one that has to work.
You get back at the table. Life is the dealer, and you’re playing your final hand against the version of you that everyone said you were, but you never believed them.
“I’ll show you…” tries to form as a thought in your mind.
But you don’t want to show anybody anything — you just want to show yourself what you’re made of.
You don’t look at your cards. Why would you?
You know this is your final hand.
Even if you lose — where would you go?
There’s no lower point.
So you play like you’ve got two aces in your hand.
All in.
Bull’s eye.
Four of a kind over a full house.
You clean the table.
God works in mysterious ways.
With love, yours truly, Cristian.