INSIDE LAS VEGAS: PART X

A DAY IN THE LIFE

By Nolan Dalla

(All Rights Reserved)

 

I believe the goal should be to achieve "balance" in life. Balance of one's physical, emotional and spiritual self. Balancing one's time. Balancing one's obligations to both himself and others

 

 

I wish the day was twice as long. I wish there were 48 hours in the day. If there were more hours in the day, there would be more time to do so many interesting things that I want to do -- more time to read good books, more time to talk to friends, more time to listen to music, more time to learn and experience new things, and more time to embrace new opportunities.

The great tragedy is not that life is short. The great tragedy of life is that most days are busy with petty obligations and distractions that divert our attention away from the things that matter the most. Most of us are so caught up in the routine of "living" that we fail to really "live." Expanding one's mind, improving one's skills, discovering new talents, and indulging in rewarding new experiences should not be merely luxuries -- but should be an integral part of daily life for everyone.

I am reminded of a story from my college days -- a story which emphasizes the sad but true fact that life offers us many more options than we can possibly accept. An old English Professor told this story to his class, where I was a student. Now twenty years later, this story sticks with me to this day.

The professor spoke of his early days when he was a graduate student back during the late 1940s. This was a very interesting time in academia -- with many new discoveries happening in science, technology, sociology, psychology, and so forth. Old social barriers were tumbling down and new paths to truth were blazed by great thinkers of the day -- including Jay Forrester, Enrico Fermi, B.F. Skinner, Rachel Carson, Paul Erdos, and so many others. These were the pioneers of bold new ideas.

Late one night, the graduate student was studying inside the university library and found one of his professors sitting at a table alone . He was hidden away in one of the recesses of the vast reservoir of knowledge. The professor was surrounded by exciting new books on many different subjects -- including many great works of science and literature by the brightest minds of the day. Yet, the professor seemed utterly frustrated by the enormity of enlightenment surrounding him. Sensing the professor's profound sadness, the graduate student approached the man sitting at the table alone and began a conversation. The graduate student, who was no more than 25 years of age at the time saw that the old professor had tears swelling in his eyes. The professor had been weeping. The professor had done many good things during his lifetime, which was now coming to an end. Retirement was on the horizon for the man in his 70s and the professor was aware of his own mortality and imminent degeneration.

Yet for all his awareness, the professor was not sad because he knew of the limitations age would have upon his teaching career. He was not sad because he perceived his life as wasteful or without meaning. The professor knew that in many ways, he DID make a difference in the lives of many of his students. Why then, was the old professor sad? In the midst of the conversation, the professor looked up from the table and said to the graduate student, "I am sad because I will never have the opportunity to read all of the great books in this library. These men and women created new ideas and made enormous contributions to our greater understanding of ourselves and the universe. And yet, I find myself not having the time to digest even a fraction of them."

For the professor, the great books surrounding him were not the source of new doors to enlightenment, but were reminders of all that was out there which would NEVER have a chance to be read, understood, experienced, nor reflected upon. It was, and is, a tragedy of a different kind -- one of unfulfilled opportunity.

What a profound, but somber concept.

At times, I think of this city Las Vegas, in much the same way the old professor views that vast library. This may be a "24-hour-a-day" city, but it is a place where there quite simply is not enough time to do everything one wants to do. It is a city that with its excesses makes it difficult to accomplish all of the tasks that one would like to achieve in a single day.

Gambling, eating, laughing, drinking, handicapping, watching sports, playing poker, writing, talking, listening, reading, seeing shows, listening to music -- these are but a few of the options available to us every single day and night in this wonderful place of magic. Yet now like the old professor, I find myself having some difficulty deciding which "books to read" on this day, because by making one choice it necessitates omitting what may very well be a better choice. If I decide to play poker for six hours, that's nearly half of a day gone that could have been spent on something else more constructive. If I watch a ball game, that's three irretrievable hours of my life -- gone. If I spend two hours at Borders reading a new book, that's two hours I could have spent writing or handicapping games.

For most of the last month, I've spent 4 to 6 hours each day inside the cardrooms of Las Vegas -- playing poker. That amount of hours represents about a third to a half of my free time in a day. The task of playing poker has been profitable for me -- even more so now that I am used to the routine and can pick and chose my spots wisely. But at some point the money begins to become less meaningful than before, when making money seemed to be the most important thing in the world. Going into the cardroom with the expectation of winning money carries no romance nor special significance. At the end of the day, I may have added another $500 to my bankroll. But at what cost? At what price? What other things might I have neglected in the pursuit of making a few dollars?

I believe the goal is to achieve "balance" in life. Balance of one's physical, emotional and spiritual self. Balancing one's time. Balancing one's obligations to both himself and others.

The limitations of time in the average day means that I will probably never have the chance to learn to play the piano, nor listen to all of the great blues artists, nor play on a softball team, nor go out on a submarine to the sea. There are a myriad of "unfulfilled opportunities" in all of our lives that we must accept as inaccessible.

There are so many choices -- and so little time.