While in prison, some of my fellows and I found that we all spoke fondly of one particular board game from our youth. After recounting past glories, we sought to obtain a copy of the game. But the game requires dice, and prisons frown heavily on gambling, so our request to have a copy of the game was denied. With time in abundance (after all, we were in prison), we decided to create our own copy of the game from memory. Each of us contributed time, energy, and talent to the creation of cards, playing pieces, dice substitutes, and the world map.

After a few games, the superiority of my game strategy was clear. After feeling very low for the crimes I had committed, I now found a true thrill in dominating this game. I was also reminded of the feeling of inferiority that covered me while losing countless games of Scrabble^© to my fellow prisoners. It was galling that, as a former school teacher, I was whipped every game by men who all had far less education. This feeling fueled my determination to make a statement by crushing all who would play our current game. Each game became incredibly draining because of intense concentration and huge expenditures of mental energy. Obsession was firmly in control of my gaming—which was rather appropriate for a game based on global domination. The lust to win was my medication of the moment.

My strategy was working. I was midway through a game and in a favorable position to take control of the contest and win. At that moment, the absurdity of my quest came to me. While playing, I became testy and short-tempered with my fellows and felt hollow after each victory. I’m sure my subconscious was drawing parallels with the temporary reprieve I found in my acting out. I won every game, but the cost to me and the men with whom I lived was enormous.

There are times in this game when players might feel their situation is hopeless. In that case they will (if you’ll forgive the phrase) “go suicide,” relentlessly attacking with their “armies” until their forces are totally depleted and are easily conquered by another player. It is a way of throwing in the towel. Tonight, when I suddenly recognized my obsession to always win, I tossed in the towel. I began to roll and attack everywhere that I could.

The realization that I had “gone suicide” began to dawn on my opponents’ faces. As each set of eyebrows on my fellows raised, I felt a self-imposed chain fall off me. Each step away from winning was a step closer to freedom from this obsession. In losing, I was smiling. This was something I had never done while I was winning. Letting go was the key.

I have now been out of prison for over 12 years, and I always try to keep mindful of this lesson while working my program. This does not mean I throw in the towel about all aspects of my life. I still need to work my program, keep employed, and pay bills and taxes. I am just more selective when deciding which issues get some of my finite supply of energy. There will be endeavors in my life that will justify expending the amount of capital that I put into playing that game, but rigorous honesty helps me to keep that list very, very short.