Then I went and did what I shouldn’t do. I set a goal. I wanted to build my bankroll to the exact dollar amount at which, if I should so desire, I could buy directly into a fairly well-known poker championship.
And I’ve been really, really close.
Each time I come within a couple hundred dollars of my goal, I trip over my camping supplies, and land just short of where I want to be.
In all fairness to myself, my goal is an arbitrary one. It slot hoki means nothing other than I reached a goal. In setting it, I have established a great white whale for myself.
Like my drum circle, getting to the goal is more the achievement than actually hitting the goal itself.
And here’s the thing: I’m stuck. I don’t know what to do with my game. At present, I’m about 90% of the way to my goal. I get close, I fall back, I get close, I fall back. I never lose much. I never win much.
I’m stuck.
After meeting my 300x BB bankroll requirement for limit play, I started dabbling in shorthanded play. I’ve been successful, but vulnerable to the inevitable variance.
I don’t believe I’m dealing with a logistical poker issue. The strength of my game is as good as it has ever been (which still needs work, but that’s a different topic). I’m dealing with something very ethereal, very mental, and sometimes bordering on emotional.
I need to turn some sort of mental corner. I need to understand myself and my motivation for playing. I sense that I have committed–at least internally–to playing for real (not professionally, mind, but for real….there’s a difference, I think, that may need some further explanation in a future post). As such, like committing to making the hike up Tricky Trail, I feel committed to making good on my personal commitment to playing.
I just don’t know what I’m going to do or how I’m going to go about it.
***
In less than two weeks, I’ll be back up on the mountain, listening to Acoustic Syndicate, Billy Joe Shaver, and maybe Donna the Buffalo. I’ve decided that I will make no commitment to hiking Tricky Trail. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, you’ll find me warmly nestled next to Mrs. Otis, listening to the drumbeats from the comfort of my sleeping bag.
Nevertheless, this semi-annual trip always does my mind well. I can think.
I have a lot to think about, both professionally, as well as what I’m going to do with my poker game.
So, if you need me, you’ll find me at lakeside.
Chances are, I’ll be the guy muttering “tricky” every few minutes and when asked if I’m going to the drum circle, declaring, “Definitely. Both nights.”
That’s just the sick kind of Otis I am.
