The Cards We're Dealt
I was watching two kids play a simple card game. One, about ten years old, was confident and competitive. The other was a younger sibling. They were playing “high card”—each simply flips a card, and the higher one wins. After a few rounds, the older kid grinned and said, “I always win and you always lose. You’re unlucky.” The younger one just shrugged. “I know I always lose,” she said, as if it were simply a fact.
You could see it in her face—she believed it. As if luck were something you were born with, like eye color or height. These dynamics play out in families and friend groups all the time, usually unchallenged. Seeds of doubt get planted again and again, eventually growing into deeply rooted insecurities.
I wanted to nip it in the bud.
Nearby was the family cat, a friendly, round old feline named Gertrude. After the game, I turned to the younger sibling and said, “Why don’t you test your luck against Gert?” I propped Gert up on a chair across from her and dealt the cards. “Now, what if Gert wins?” I asked—gambling that this lesson would pay off. “Would that mean Gert is luckier than you?”
That would mean someone isn’t just unlucky compared to other people—but also pets. If you can be unlucky compared to a pet, why not a frog? A bug? An amoeba? What about a shoe—or a rusty can? What if you played against yourself? Would it always be a tie—where both sides lose?
After enough hands against Gert, it became clearer: the outcome had little to do with some magical quality of the player in the chair, and more to do with chance—independent of who or what was occupying the seat.
I remember being in junior high. My competitive friends, who loved to bust each other, would play cards at lunch. The first time I joined in, I lost fourteen dollars. Growing up poorer than most of my classmates, that loss stung. And coming from a religious family, the gambling added another layer of guilt.
For the rest of my school years, I never played again. I just hung around and watched. Years later, some of my old high school friends planned a card night to hang out and share a few laughs.
The game was Pitch—played in teams of two. Midway through the night, one friend had to leave early, leaving them short a fourth. They were about to call it when I heard myself say, “If you want, I can play.”
“Really?” they said, surprised.
“Sure, deal the cards.”
The game resumed. I played the first round—and lost. Then the next, and the next. I was testing the science of luck. I didn’t believe in it—but I didn’t exactly believe in my skills either. And the data wasn’t on my side.
By the end of the night, I’d lost about fourteen dollars—an observation not lost on my friends. But this time, I reacted differently. I told myself: if they invited me again, I’d keep playing.
After history repeated, I headed home with a bit of a bruised ego. Was I unlucky? Maybe. But I felt good about getting in the game. The embarrassment faded. I assumed I wouldn’t be invited back—which was fine by me. But, as “luck” would have it, a couple months later, they needed a fourth.
“Huh,” I thought. “If they don’t care, maybe I don’t either.”
At least there’d be some laughs.
Again, I kept losing—round after round. In Pitch, you win a round when you hit a points goal, and then switch partners. Every time someone got paired with me, we’d lose. I just kept taking it on the chin.
But eventually, something started to shift. Now and then, I’d win a bid. I’d make a smart play. And then—surprisingly, I won a round.
At the end of each night, I would pay my debts. But now something felt different.
Eventually, I became a regular. I’d get the email: “You in for cards?” It still felt strange to be included. And though it was still a little stressful, I always said yes.
Then one night, it happened. I won the first round. We switched partners, and I won again. Round after round, I kept winning.
At the end of the night, I tried not to gloat as they paid me. I felt bad—because I knew how it felt.
One friend asked, “How did you do it?”
I smiled to myself and said, “I guess I’m just lucky.”