Acceptance of Grace

As of late, I have been experiencing a recurring theme in my own life. It has popped up in enough places that I deem it worth sharing. Let me tell you a few of the stories which have taught me this message. 

Just this morning, I got up to play my favorite game: Crash Team Racing. It’s an older title that has stood the test of time, receiving a remaster for the ps4 after its original release on the ps1. After a quick google search, I have learned that this game is only three years younger than I am. I now feel old. As the title suggests, this is a game of cart-racing, with just enough of a skill curve that it remains engaging enough to encourage hundreds of hours of gameplay. Unfortunately, my hours logged span across multiple consoles, some of which are no longer in my possession. I couldn’t tell you the exact number of hours that I have spent racing those karts, but I can guarantee you that it is many. 

So, today I sat down to tackle one of the more challenging achievements: winning all of the tournament-style cups that the game has to offer. For context, a “cup” is a four-race gauntlet, in which you must have the highest overall score to win. You don’t necessarily need to score first place in every single race, but you need to have more points than any other races at the end of the tournament. 

By this point, I had beaten all of the other tournaments and had one left to conquer. So I entered the game and gave the tournament my best shot. I brought my A-game, which would usually get me into first place, or at least third if I was having an off day. Much to my surprise, my usual skill level put me in dead last. 

Weird. 

I tried again and produced the same results. Again and again, I tried, and at my very best, I could make my way up to fifth. This wasn’t bad, but it put me in enough of a deficit that I wouldn’t be able to return from. 

Or, so I thought. 

In several attempts, I floundered my way through the first race and attempted the rest of the gauntlet. The following race yielded similar results. Except in this race, I could make it onto the podium if I was lucky. The other two races were mostly smooth sailing. I could put my faith in those if all else failed. After one attempt at the entire cup, I came up a single point short of victory. It was at this time that I decided to take some time to practice the first course, in hopes of fortifying the weakest piece in my game plan. 

For several hours, I raced that single course. I obsessed over every turn, every detail of every inch of that track has been burned into my memory for what I can only assume will be the rest of my life. I wish I could stand before you, proudly declaring that I made that course my new strong-point, but no such claim would be truth. I did, however, manage to bolster my average. Before, I could find myself in fifth place at best, and dead-last at worst. By the end of an hour and a half of practice, I managed to land in third on a good race, and fifth on a bad one. Though I wished for better odds, I was satisfied with the progress. 

So I once again tried my luck at the tournament. It took several attempts, but eventually I had a stroke of luck and secured a spot in second place at the end of the first race. By this point, my mind had taken a severe beating from the journey as a whole, but even in this moment of weakness, I could recognize that I was off to a good start. 

The second race yielded similar results, securing a healthy amount of points as I finished in third. It was not ideal, but far from a worst-case scenario. The trouble was that the same two competitors were consistently scoring in neighboring positions, meaning a major slip-up would yield catastrophic results, potentially costing me the cup. The pressure was building, and the next two races could account for vibrant success, or disastrous failure. 

Such failure began breathing down my neck as I finished the third race. While I did finish in first place, my competitors were still right on my tail, finishing in second and third. I do not recall the exact point-scores at this time, but they were close enough that one thing was clear: victory was no guarantee just yet. The fourth race would truly be the deciding factor. 

I entered the fourth race with my heart racing and my palms sweating. This was it. If I failed this, I would be forced to endure the suffering all over again. Conditions favored me as I flew down the course. Neck-and-neck I battled my competitors, with everything happening so fast that I barely had time to process who was beside me, reaching for my first-place title. And as I approached the halfway point of the final lap, disaster struck. I took a turn too wide and spun out, slamming into a wall on the far side of the course. 

“Yep, that’s it. It’s all over now.” I told myself. Not one to accept defeat, I gave the final leg my all, while also knowing full-well that this attempt would not favor me. When I crossed the finish line, I was not surprised to read the scoreboard. Dead last. Zero points added to my overall score. I felt my entire body accept defeat. Not even my fortunate lead could salvage this disaster. This was it. Two mindsets flashed before me in this moment. On the one hand, I could take a break. It is a known fact that a brief respite is enough to bolster one’s skill level, allowing one to return with far more capabilities than they had before. 

On the other hand, this option felt too much like defeat. I was angered by such a loss. To come so close, and yet leave victory just out of reach. Unthinkable! Amidst the chaos of previous practice races, I had determined that the indicator of the need for respite would be the production of diminishing results. No such criteria had been met. After a few breaths to release the initial shock from my body, I began mentally preparing to once again race this grueling journey once again. 

But when I advanced the menu to behold the final scoreboard, another wave of shock swept over me as I beheld the results: I had actually won! As fate would have it, all three of the winning spots were claimed by last-place holders of the previous races. The scores were balanced out and I had scraped up just enough points to claim the gold medal. I felt my heart stop. It would be hours before the true bliss of achieving exactly what I desired would ever truly grab hold of me. I had done it. I had won. 

You may find this story unconvincing. You may be tempted to appeal to the intelligent design of the video game developers to form a cop-out for this argument. You may find yourself gravitating towards the notion that any lessons I might be able to extrapolate apply solely to this video game, or perhaps video games in general. While I could attempt to rebuttal that point, I won’t bother with that today. Nay, I find it far more amusing to appeal to something far more interesting: the fact that this lesson has been repeating itself. I have found it in various places as of late, but I would like to share one of my other personal favorites. 

In this chapter of my life, I am known as a regular of a local gym. An aspect of gym membership, for me, is spending time at the neighboring supplements shop, where I purchase my monthly supply of protein powder. On one such occasion, I received word that the chain would be opening a new location at the dawn of the following month. As such, they would be holding a grand opening event, which included discounted pricing and free door prizes. The first 100 customers would receive a free container of protein powder. Needless to say, I had something to look forward to in the foreseeable future. 

Days crawled by as I approached the day of the opening event. Every “X” on the calendar meant that I was one step closer to winning a free case of protein. Eventually, the week of the event was upon me and I began to formulate my plan of action. The event was held on a Saturday morning, with the doors opening at 10:00 AM. Normally, I donate plasma on Saturdays as a means of supplemental income. My original plan was to donate upon return, since the clinic would be open until 7:00 PM. However, the staffing at the facility was to be short that day, meaning they would be forced to close at 1:00 PM. With the drive to the supplement store being an entire hour from my home, a decision would have to be made over which supplement I would risk: the physical, or financial? 

In my preparations, I opted for the path of maturity and decided to prioritise my financial security. The donation center would open at 7:00 AM, and if all went well, I could be out of their doors by 8:00 AM, meaning I would be able to make it into the line an hour before the supplement store’s opening. Surely that would be enough to secure my desired door prize. 

However, fate would have other plans for me that day. Though I arrived at the center on time, my donation would draw itself out. 8:00 AM would arrive as I crossed the halfway mark of my donation. This was not excellent news for me, to say the least. Tragically, my donation would be fully processed at roughly the time I had hoped to take my place in line. This was not going according to plan, and I was upset. 

All the same, I made the trek to the store. Even if I wouldn’t be able to secure my desired prize, prices for my regular items would be heavily discounted. The day would not be an entire loss. The drive up was pleasant, with my roommate accompanying me. He reciprocated my love of protein powders, sharing a similar usage level. We exchanged anecdotal remarks regarding our condition and revelled in our shared taste in music. The journey was enjoyable, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the sensation of doom that found itself lodged deep in the inner depths of my soul. 

It’s important to note that pessimism manifests itself quite often in my daily life. It’s commonplace for me to assume that I will not acquire that which I have not over-committed to achieving. In many cases, this is fair. Massive undertakings, such as a bachelor’s degree or a high-earning career are not overnight endeavors. There are many cases in which it is acceptable to assume that good fortune will not be yours by default. But with each passing failure, one draws closer and closer to the conclusion that success is an impossibility. Worse yet, one might even come to believe that the forces of the cosmos actively oppose them, leaving one to perceive themselves as trapped in a place of perpetual terror. I lived in such a place for a time. 

As is typical, this mindset played out before my very eyes as I stood in line. I was not prepared to declare the event a total loss, but I was prepared to face an outcome that deviated from my highest desire. Yet, as the distance between myself and the entrance to the store grew smaller, I detected something noteworthy: customers continued to exit the store with first-place prizes. Hope was not yet lost! With each exiting customer, this epiphany became increasingly noteworthy, for I felt the probability of it becoming false increase. “Surely, this next customer will be the last of the first 100.” I thought to myself. Such was not the case! Each passing participant continued to find their place within the desired range. Much to my confusion and denial, it appeared as though I remained within range as my turn came to enter the shop. 

With denial lingering still, I made a brief lap around the store upon entrance. It was quite small, so this tour did not last long. Within 5 minutes, I was prepared to make my exit. The checkout line was brief, so this portion of the tension hadn’t time to linger. In what felt like the blink of an eye, my time had come. Judgment day was upon me, and it was time to face my ultimate fate. I briefly glanced at my roommate, who was directly in front of me in the checkout line. He made it out the door in the time it took me to make my purchase, so I took note of his prize. Much to my surprise, he had achieved victory. Resting in his grasp was the first-place prize of a tub of protein. Denial was not about to quit, however, as I felt that eerily familiar voice whisper, “he must be the last one of the first hundred. Shucks.” I shifted my gaze downward. But as I did, I noticed the pile of prizes resting on the floor. There was one box of protein powders left! I had just barely made it! 

Sure enough, the door greeter signed my receipt, and I walked out with a container of protein powder.  I had won! The protein was officially mine! I gasped as I felt denial being exorcised from my body. It would be several hours before the truth of this story would sink in, and days for my mind to begin to shift. Fundamental foundations on which my life depended would begin to crumble that day, and I would never be the same.

What, then, should I extrapolate from these tales? Most rudimentarily, this is a call to question the belief that life is guaranteed to yield negative results. That everything will be difficult to achieve, and that only intense work will produce even the smallest of results. It’s a call to question the belief that life will never give you what you want. As ridiculous as all of these conclusions sound, I believed every single one of them at one time or another. I faced enough disaster, enough danger and stress that no event felt like true victory. 

These experiences have weakened the idea that adventure leads to disaster. I will still need more to truly bring this stronghold down, but it has been enough to start. Now, when faced with something new, I simply shout “PROTEIN,” and do it anyway. Not every new experience has been as profitable, but at least I am inoculated to the fear. 

I have also begun to question my own need for competence. The idea that I need to be on top of everything to step into a new situation is now beginning to crumble as well. This idea is also quite deeply rooted, so I expect more time is necessary to fully repair my mindset. But the idea is slipping, and its roots are beginning to wither. Perhaps one day, I will be able to say that I am a recovered adventurer. Maybe one day, I will be able to fully repair the broken relationship between myself and this tyrant. 

But on a deeper level, this is a call to accept grace. It is an invitation to accept what I may not have fully earned. This is a far more humbling, and far more difficult journey, but one that is beautiful and sweet all the same. I say difficult, because there’s a temptation to devalue a gift unearned. I used to be known for saying, “you know how some people say that the best food is free food? Well, I’m the opposite–nothing tastes better than the food I’ve paid for!” 

There’s a certain kind of comfort that comes from the work of your own hands. But that comfort can become an addiction, one that can quickly spoil everything else. How absurd it would be to choose a simple sandwich over a five-star meal, simply because the meal was not prepared by you! And yet, that’s what pride does. The key, then, is to appreciate all that has been given in grace, despite our own incompetencies. 

In this acceptance, we must manage the other response to grace: fear. I say manage, for we must not fully avoid it. You see, a gift one could not earn ought to be cherished, and part of cherishing a gift is in recognizing that its acquisition is not a repeatable action. In other words, we must understand that this gift is not one we could acquire on our own. If this conclusion doesn’t make your heart tremble, at least a little, then the gift may not be fully valued. 

On this same note, however, this fear must not rule us. In order to properly rule over the gift, we must recognize that we may need to part with it. If I left my precious protein to sit in the cupboard all day, it would eventually spoil, leaving the gift devoid of merit. Gifts will come and go, of this we must never forget. We must learn to use them wisely in order to express our deepest gratitudes for them. 

I recognize that this is a difficult dichotomy to juggle. The line I propose we walk is not simple, to say the least. However, it is what is necessary to lead the best possible life. Proper reflection is key to successful management of all of life’s dilemmas, and this predicament is no exception. I pray this post finds you well, and that you learn to accept grace and improbable success. 

Until Next Time

May Peace be your Guide.