when the universe calls your bluff.
I guess you go.
The first time I ever remember playing poker was at my friend Jenny’s dad’s house when I was 11 years old. Texas Hold ‘Em wasn’t popular yet, so we played five card draw. We never had any money, but we played with “Texas-sized” jellybeans that were shaped and sized exactly the same as how I imagine Danny DeVito’s thumbs. Except they were all different colors. I can’t remember if I ever won or lost poker. What I remember from those days is playing poker with Garfield playing cards with Jenny at her kitchen table. Her dad in the other room, watching something completely inappropriate on the TV. Her brother in his bedroom, playing video games with a friend. Jenny and I, laughing and betting jelly beans into the night under a yellow light that made everything feel like the sepia tone of nostalgia happening in the moment. Trying my damnedest to win as much candy as I could off this friend of mine.
The longest job I’ve ever had was waiting tables at Chili’s. It was the first chain restaurant in my hometown of Georgetown, Texas that wasn’t fast food. A coworker named Manny would host a poker night at his apartment once a week. $20 buy-in. Texas Hold ‘Em. My fellow Chili-Heads (that’s what they called us) knew that I didn’t have a good poker face. I had recently gotten in trouble for rolling my eyes at a customer. (which was so second-nature to me that I hadn’t even realized I rolled my eyes at them.)
There were five card tables set up for groups of four and plenty of alcohol to go around. Manny would smoke cigars and ask if anyone else wanted one. I abstained from drinking or smoking and hoped that would give me a leg-up on on other card players. (it did not.) The first couple times I played I was out almost immediately—easy money. But as time went on, I got a bit better and started winning a bit of money. Sometimes I would walk away after winning $20 or so—excited about doubling my money and not wanting to lose it. I sat across from college-aged men who scared me. I wanted to play cards and I wanted to win money and I didn’t want them to look at me too closely.
Gambling didn’t count as a sin in my friend group at the Christian college I attended. Premarital sex? Yes. Underage drinking? Absolutely. Saying “goddamn”? Def a sin. But we played a ton of poker. We would break up ten dollars into poker chips that our friend Jared had. We’d always play at “The Loft”—what we called Jared and three other friends’ apartment. It was an apartment in downtown Belton, Texas, above a clock shop. It was once a dentist’s office. The whole apartment had linoleum flooring. You could tell where the reception area was, but you could never really tell where exactly they pulled teeth. I would find myself uncomfortable (emotionally) in The Loft many times through college and every so often, I would wonder, “Am I sitting where they pulled teeth?”
We played poker seriously. I wasn’t spectacular, but I was getting good. At any time, in any game at The Loft, I was playing poker against at least one ex-boyfriend. I had two of them who lived in The Loft. I would sit across from him, with a decent hand, begging him to call what I knew he thought was a bluff. These nights, I was playing for something bigger than money. Yes, I needed the money, but taking all of this boy’s chips and watching him hang his head and have to walk away from the table gave me something that was hard to come by as a woman in religion—power. Winning these hands was addictive. When someone I used to make out with would think I was lying, when he would “call my bluff” and I would silently say, “I’m wasn’t lying. I have so much more than you even believed. Now give me all your money and walk away” just by laying down my winning cards one by one, it was everything.
When I lost those hands, it was crushing.
These past two years have felt like I’m playing poker with (against?) the Universe. I’ve gotten good at the game. (this game of poker that we’re calling life.) There were so many hands that I thought I would have definitely won—they were a given!—that I ended up losing. There were times I didn’t think I had the right cards to even play, but remembered that I had aces hidden up so many sleeves.
It is one week until I move to Jackson, Wyoming. Seven days left in Seattle…until my family and I pack up our two vehicles and start driving to Wyoming.
In this game, I have wanted so much. I have been hungry to win so many other things. Moving to Jackson was not one of those things I wanted to win. A friend at the table said, “You’ll never move back to Jackson, Rachel.” And I dropped chips in the center of the table, saying, “Yes, I would. I mean, if I got to be in a leadership role at KHOL and if Evan got a well paying job that came with subsidized housing and and subsidized childcare. I would totally move back if all of that happened. Happily!”
And the Universe stared me right in the eyes—bearing down on my soul—and said, “I call.”
“What? No. Are you sure?”
“I call. Prove it. Here’s everything you want. Put your money where your mouth is.”
The Universe called my bluff. I thought I wanted so many other things. I never thought I’d be able to move back to Jackson. I thought Seattle was it for me. But the Universe has other ideas sometimes, I guess. And when the Universe calls your bluff, you either bow out or you rise up. Here we go.
I’m all in.
Quick Hits:
Jam of the Week: Toro y Moi.
(Tuesdays rule. Exhibit A: The Messayist. Exhibit B: Toro y Moi has this song.)
This Podcast Is SO GOOD.
(another reason Tuesdays rule… that’s when new episodes drop! I can’t remember the last time I waited with such excitement/anticipation for podcast episodes.)
Cancer Season Horoscopes!
(mine [Taurus] is freakily accurate. let’s all relax and slow down, okay?)Real Bad Week For Fans Of Basic Bitch Pop.
(but an opportunity to watch this hilarity again and to absolutely ruminate on every aspect of this epic concert.)I’m Into This Trend.
(got this pair.)This Weekend, Someone I Haven’t Seen In A Year Asked If I Was PREGNANT.
(SO THAT WAS FUN. we all know not to do this, right? never. but obviously she didn’t know not to ask. I’m trying to be okay with my body and it’s shape these days. I’m trying to be so grateful that it functions and is soft and strong enough. this reminded me how fucked our society is and can be around appearance. listen to me: you’re fucking beautiful. [me to me, but also to you.])(let’s dance more.)
The Grandma I Strive To Be.
(how is Lenny still so hot?)
Cannot believe it’s my last week in Seattle. My heart! It’s breaking and it’s excited and it hurts and it’s happy.
xxo,
rachel.