Don’t hate the player, hate the game! This is Catherine’s favourite line when she has somehow gained, or thinks she has gained, the upper hand in one of our numerous lively debates.  It irritates me for two reasons; she thinks it’s funny, and her last name is Player.

Yesterday, once again, I observed this phrase sailing towards me carried on a small raft of smug. For the first time, I stopped to consider it’s meaning.

The expression posits that life consists of a series of games, and that we, as life’s participants, are simply conforming to a set of already predetermined rules. Sounds about right. If your father was loving, you’ll be likely to have more opportunities in life. Alternately, if your father was violent, you could end up an alcoholic drug addict, living in a forest and talking to aliens; not that there is anything wrong with aliens. Okay, perhaps the nuances of each player’s technique are user defined, but the rules of the game certainly follow a well-worn path, experienced world over.

The rules, of course, are the game. Nobody ever needs to have the rules explained, they are innate to each of us as humans.  As a scientist, I look for patterns. If I can demonstrate a pattern in society, I can provide evidence to support a theory. It’s how we academics earn our street cred.

Patterns, however, do not pique my interest nearly as much as individuals not following the bell curve.  My real fascination lay within the grey matter of the out-layers; those situated anywhere but the expected. The people who choose to ignore the rules and redefine the game, well, these guys are my people.

It has been well documented that my early family life was anything but charmed. For a while there, I hung onto to the norm and followed the bell curve. Consequently, I was brutally shaken each time the hunch back decided the bell needed ringing. That is, I followed the expected pattern of an abused child, and it did not serve either myself, or those in proximity. I was violent, drug addicted, full of hate, anti-social, afraid, ashamed, lost and, at times, suicidal. The rules of my predetermined game were not intended to produce old bones.

I followed the expected path for many years. I played hard, burning bridges as I went, until eventually, I found myself in complete isolation and living in a forest where I remained for ten years. During this ten-year period, I’d often stumble onto various side tracks, and as much as I considered these tracks “game changers” I remained on the same bell curve.

To improve my game stats in those forest days, I established a crop of marijuana. “This is a game changer,” I remember thinking. The crop produced an income and from there I was able to purchase home brewing kits. Not adept in the finer points of beer brewing, I made quite a lethal brew. It ultimately brought me to my knees. No game was changed! In fact, my decline was a predictable outcome. The match was fixed, and I had been benched.

I often find it interesting that the end of the game is often where the real victory begins. Buried in the mud from my last and final failed tackle, I could either never play again or change the rules of the game. By far, my greatest win was from the position of defeat, and it came in the form of an important realisation; I HAVE A CHOICE! I could simply choose to stop the cycle of destruction. I could choose not to continue to play by the game’s rules and, most importantly, I could choose to stop hating the player (myself) and instead hate the game.

It sounds simple. It wasn’t, but then again, neither was the game I’d played for all those years. As difficult as it was, sobriety, self-love, education and a future were what I chose. These choices were the real game changers.

Today, I have a 14-month-old son, named William. Having failed many people, including those I held dear, in my past, I am determined not to fail him. The cycle has stopped and as a result, his predetermined game is one of good health, well-being, and hopefully, the gift of a successful life.

Now when I say, “This is a game changer” I am referring to completely healthy things. The discovery that William feeds better at a small table rather than in his highchair, that was a game changer. When William learned to walk in shoes and could come to the chook pen with me, without the pain of burs in his feet, another game changer. I am completely aware that these things aren’t really game changers, rather, the average on the bell curve of a healthy life. I am so grateful that I became the out-layer in my previously predetermined game of destruction.

Maybe I should jump on Catherine’s small raft of smug. Is there enough room for both of us? After all, it’s the sick and predetermined games we need to learn to hate. And, if you can choose to hate that game enough, you might just start to love the player. As I’ve learned, it is from that vantage point the real game is won.