The Scoreboard

I grew up playing games all the time, and when you play games, you have to keep score. There’s no avoiding it. If you don’t keep score, you’re just tossing the ball around – which is fine, but it’s not a game. It has no defined beginning and end, no goal. It’s more interesting trying to catch a ball if someone else is trying to keep you from catching that ball. Also, a score is a simple way to determine how well you’re doing. Are you up a pawn? Down a run? Tied in the fourth quarter? It stinks when you’re losing, but how satisfying to know empirically, quantifiably, and unequivocally that you’re winning!

It’s addictive really. My wife enjoys watching game shows where singers or makeup artists or clothing designers are pitted against one another in artistic competition. I have to leave the room whenever she watches one of these. I saw the arts as a refuge from the endless game of which life sometimes seemed made, and of the unfriendly lens through which I inevitably viewed my competitors. I will not watch these heretics befoul the pure field of expression with crass comparison.

I have, of course, quietly created my own private scoreboards. I create them so quietly I am confused when I look at one and see that I am losing. How unfair and depressing. Nothing to be done. The scoreboard has spoken. That’s why you have them, after all: So there’s no argument, so you know. I slump away from the field, caught in the sudden gloom of loss, shuffling along with my old friend failure. He’ll always be there if you call for him, but he’s no fun to talk to. All he does is go on about the past. To him, the future and the past are one and the same. Nothing ever changes. Nothing improves or grows, and no on learns, and nothing matters, the game is over, it’s all over, the score says so.

One of the nice things about playing games someone else invented is you can just quit playing one you’re not enjoying. It’s just a game, after all. Just something to do. It’s not your life. Trickier when you created the game and you’re the only one playing it. What happens when you quit that one? You look at the scoreboard and realize it’s all zeros, as clear and empty as a blank page.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com