Daily Snippet

As a child, I went through a “buddy stage”. If I went to the roller skating rink, I invited a friend. If I rode my bike into town, I invited a friend. Not unusual behavior for children. But what happens if this tendency continues into adulthood? It can be very detrimental if having a “partner” is a prerequisite for taking any risks.

In the fifth grade, I had the opportunity to participate in a skate-a-thon to raise money for a local charity. The top prize was a color television, and I wanted it. My family had a large, broken console television that sat on the living room floor and served as a tabletop for knick-knacks and dust, and we had a tiny black and white portable with an antenna that detected only a few stations (even with the addition of aluminum foil!).

I had no doubt that I could raise the money to win. Unfortunately, when it actually came time to go door-to-door asking for donations, I wasn’t so confident. I remember lying on my bed, daydreaming about the color television and devising a scheme for attacking my area neighborhoods one house at a time. But I simply couldn’t envision doing it alone. So, I called Cathy.

Cathy was a fun girl, and she liked the idea of an all-night skate-a-thon. I explained that it would require some fundraising, and a discussion of prizes ensued. Cathy was hooked. On Saturday she and I rode our bikes from neighborhood to neighborhood, knocking on doors and collecting donations. Now, if two cute kids came to your door, zealously requesting financial support in hopes that they will win prizes, what would you do? If you have four dollars, each girl will get two of them! If you have fifty cents, each girl will get a quarter! Thus, at the end of our fundraising day, we each had a lot of money, but our totals were exactly the same.

At dinner my dad asked how much money I raised, and he was thrilled to hear the amount. “How much has Cathy raised?” he asked. I told him. I could tell he was disappointed. He lectured me about the foolishness of involving Cathy. If I really wanted to succeed and win the television set, I would have to do it alone.

Each morning that next week I planned to embark on a solo fundraising mission after school. Each afternoon I simply returned home and watched Brady Bunch re-runs on the black and white television. Isn’t it amazing how bright things look in the morning and how dreary they look in the afternoon? My dad would come home from work, ask me if I had gone out, and I would simply answer, “No.”

The next Saturday I called Cathy about taking another fundraising jaunt on our bicycles, and I learned some startling news. Cathy had gone out alone in her own neighborhood all week, and she now had twice the amount in her big white envelope than I had! How dare she go alone, especially when she knew that I wanted the color television. But even with the knowledge that Cathy was winning — even with the irrational feelings of betrayal — I never budged.

On Sunday evening my dad told me that I would not be going to school the next day. I would be going to work with him. The ride to Flint took twenty minutes, and it was a quiet ride. As we approached the city, dad turned into a winding subdivision and stopped the car. “This is your stop,” he said. He informed me that he would be going to work while I did fundraising in the neighborhood. “I’ll pick you up at 5:00 at this same exact spot.”

What!? I was angry. I don’t remember fearing for my safety, but the familiar pangs of insecurity throbbed through my body as I grabbed my white envelope and stepped out of the car. I sat on the curb for a long time and contemplated my plight. I could sit there all day long and, when he returns, tell him that my envelope had been stolen or that nobody offered me a single donation during the entire eight-hour workday. But I knew what I had to do.

I approached the first door … then the second … then the third. With each attempt, the process was less painful. Of course, some people live to slam a door in the face of well-intentioned eleven-year-old girls, while other people live to donate the largest bill in the white envelope. When my dad picked me up that evening, I was elated. I had surpassed all financial expectations, and I had overcome my fear of going door-to-door alone. At the skate-a-thon, I won the color television.

Don’t misunderstand the problem. The problem had nothing to do with being alone. I loved to be alone. I spent hours riding my bike around the schoolyard, shooting baskets, and reading books in my bedroom. Being alone was one of my favorite hobbies.

The problem was not a lack of desire. Many people say, “If you want something badly enough, you will make it happen!” Baloney! If that were true, there would be nobody living in poverty, smoking cigarettes or paying off credit cards. By their sheer desire to be rich, kick the habit, or alleviate debt, these people would make all of the necessary adjustments to succeed. I had the desire, and so do thousands of other people in the world.

The problem was fear, though not the fear of being kidnapped or fear of the unknown. My fear was less concrete, a strange concoction of fear of failure and fear of looking foolish. And, I had the strange idea that two or more people would somehow “legitimize” any venture and, somehow, cut down on the possibility of failure.

When fear is greater than desire, you find yourself at a personal impasse, and involving other people is a typical approach to the problem. You want to start a business, but you’re afraid, so you enter into a partnership. You want to go on a trip, but you’re afraid, so you invite a friend or relative. You want to ask someone for a date, but you’re afraid, so you ask someone else to approach the person on your behalf. The results are toxic. You never really know why the business succeeds. You never really experience the trip through your own eyes. You never really know if the date would have worked without the generosity of your friend.

And, on more than one occasion, you involve someone else in your plans only to find that they are more than willing to take the white envelope door to door without you. Before you know it, you are the loser in your own game.