As a joke, I invented a day called `Trashy Tuesdays` wherein the roommates and I (at least a few) watch silly shows, eat lazy food, and stay up too late. Today was perhaps the last `Trashy Tuesday` as the roommate who cherishes Trashy Tuesdays the most will be getting married three weekends from now, and is moving into his new apartment tomorrow.
Despite his short term as roommate, he carved his place into the group as both a gentleman and scholar. I'm not good with goodbyes, so I hope it is not one.
In sophomore year, our spiritual motif was fourfold: men of devotion, men of healing, men of purity, men of conquest. For each of us, A picked a piece. Mine was "men of conquest". Odd, it seemed, at the time. While both D and I could claim to be introverts, J and A tended more towards the extroverted side of the spectrum (A claims he's an introvert - puh). Honestly, the rest of the group mattered little in A's choices; it only mattered that he got healing.
However, mine may have turned into a more accurate statement than he could have imagined at the time. I'm a fairly competitive person. It used to be much worse. Some of my parent's favorite stories are when, as a child, I wouldn't play games with the other children until I knew how to win, and then they wouldn't play games with me because I won so easily.
In high school, I always managed to be better than anyone else at whatever competitive game I chose to excel at. If I craved success at a game, I made sure I was the best at it before long. This extended beyond games into academics as well. A particularly prideful girl always got the top grades in our preppy high school, and flaunted her superiority. So I started studying. Before long, I had her beat in all the classes we shared. Conquest. In college, A invited me to play a new game with him. At the beginning of the semester, I was getting trounced. By the end, my skills were beyond his.
When my blood was raised, the bait was laid, I threw everything of me in until victory was assured. Not just winning, but clearly conquering. Once I won, I no longer recognized the need to win anymore - I knew I could do it, why continue proving myself? I maintained this sentiment until easily my junior year of college. Living with A certainly tempered my competition. He nurtured my love for community, for enjoying competing with those I loved dearly. (my normal conquest invited far less camaraderie, let me tell you. People hate losing over and over) A was always the wiser, the lover not the fighter.
There are different types of competitors. First, there is the angry type: those who, on losing, start throwing controllers, raging, hitting people, and taking vengeance in ways external to the game (likely after realizing their in game vengeance is not forthcoming). There is the natural, a person who appears to excel at all activities. Third are those who excel due to a love of excellence at a particular activity. These characteristics can certainly carry over, and are by no means mutually exclusive. Then there is my brand of competition: the patient, the scholar.
I was not a natural, nor an angry gamer, nor even necessarily a lover of the competition I chose. I generally thrived on the competition more than the activity that drove it. When I discovered whatever it was I was to compete at next, I dove into the deep end of research immediately. What did I need to know? What were all the rules? Could the rules be bent? What ruts were current players stuck in that were irrelevant? Could I alter the meta-game? What was the psychology of each of the players, and how could I take advantage of that? Theory-crafting was my game, in the most opaque of ways.
---- I don't remember how I was going to end this. So I'll duck out.
Last poem before bed - an almost devotional poem, though I suspect it could be used romantically, I've never had the occasion:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
~Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Now I'll go to sleep.
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