The Power of Loss

Just the other day I was thinking about some of my experiences. My mother passed in March, and that got my wheels turning. My childhood and different family moments started taking laps inside my mind.

It may sound odd, but the thought of shooting pool as a kid came to mind. Childhood was just the beginning. Later in life, I ended up playing almost every day, usually with people who were better than me. That was fantastic. I lost a lot, and that’s okay, because it taught me everything I knew about the game.

Looking back, billiards was a form of meditation for me. To learn the game, it takes time and a calm mind. After years of practice, I became good enough to compete with players I once thought were far beyond me.

That part matters later.

When I was around 10, my dad did a lot of handy work. He was very good. He would often go beyond what was needed, building something solid when something simple would have worked. Because of that, people often asked for his help. Many times it was more of a trade than money changing hands.

Somehow, in one of those deals, he ended up with a pool table that became a fixture in our basement.

We would play every now and then. In between, I would practice. I started feeling good about my game. That’s when it happened, a life lesson that I wouldn’t fully understand until many years later.

At the time, I only caught part of it. Looking back, it was surface level. Over the years, that same lesson has returned again and again, each time a little deeper. A single lesson can come back many times, deepening as we are ready to receive it.

Let me explain.

I challenged my dad to a game of pool. He accepted and playfully offered a bet. It was something like five dollars, which didn’t mean much to me at that age. It was more about the challenge.

The games went back and forth. I would win, then he would. Back and forth for a few rounds. When we were even, he was ready to stop.

But I wasn’t.

Being a confident kid who thought I knew everything, I pushed for one more game. Holding my own against an adult made me feel like I was taking over the world, and Dad would be my first proof of that.

That’s not how it played out.

Five dollars turned into ten, then twenty. Three quick games and it was over. I lost it all. He tried to let me stop, and I just wouldn’t.

That’s where the lessons began.

At the time, the lessons were simple. Be careful when talking big. Be cautious when betting. Understand that some days go your way, and some don’t. Sometimes things fall apart for no clear reason. Sometimes someone else is just having a better day.

Those were the early lessons.

The deeper meaning took decades to show itself.

As I continued playing over the years, I improved. A lot. Not because I was naturally great, but because I practiced. I cared about the game, and I stayed with it.

Now imagine comparing that to life.

When you first play pool, your goal is simple, sink as many balls as you can. As you learn, the goal changes. You start playing within the rules. Then, as you improve, you play against better people, and the game continues to evolve.

Life isn’t much different.

Everything we do is either something we have done before or something new. When it’s new, do we expect ourselves to master it right away? Probably not, even though sometimes we act like we should.

Think about it from a parent’s perspective.

When the first child is born, you are figuring it out as you go. Then a second child comes along. You might feel more prepared, but it’s still the first time raising that child. Every experience is new in its own way.

Do we ever truly know what we’re doing, or are we simply doing the best we can with what we have?

That’s the deeper lesson.

We are all doing our best each day. Even when it falls short, it is the best we have in that moment. Parents are no different. No one is perfect. Every decision is made with the understanding available at the time.

Looking back now, I can see the ways I made life difficult for my parents. Leaving home at 16 must have hurt them. The decisions I made while trying to figure things out could have been better. Even as an adult, some choices made for self preservation ended up hurting others.

That understanding didn’t stop with the game. It followed me into something much deeper.

I had been preparing for my mother’s passing for what felt like years. We didn’t always have the best relationship. We didn’t always see eye to eye. For a long time, that sat with me in ways I didn’t fully understand.

Over time, something began to shift.

I started to see that forgiveness isn’t really about the other person. It’s about freeing yourself. It’s about releasing the weight you’ve been carrying, even when you didn’t realize you were holding it.

And even deeper than that, it’s about forgiving yourself.

Forgiving yourself for the moments you didn’t know better. For the choices you made while trying to figure life out. For the ways you showed up when you were still learning how to be who you are.

When that begins to happen, something else softens too.

Expectations of others start to fall away. Not because people suddenly change, but because your understanding does. You begin to see that everyone is learning in their own way, just like you are.

So here’s what it comes down to.

I’m not perfect. If I’m not perfect, how can I expect anyone else to be?

If I make choices that feel right at the time and they still turn out messy, do I really have the right to expect others to do better?

As much as I try to be right, to be correct, to be perfect, I still fall short. So why judge others for doing the same?

To me, the answer is in the effort.

If I never practiced pool, I never would have improved. Life works the same way. If we move through life as if everything is happening to us, we stay where we are.

But when we begin to learn from our experiences, and we’re willing to see those lessons more deeply, that’s when things start to change.

Not just for us, but for everyone around us.
Because the more we understand, the more gently we begin to live.