Objective: Live in the moment
Priorities: Writing and Working
Poker Goal: Focus on cash games; Play less tournaments
Habit to Break: Biting my nails
Habit to instill: Budgeting
A Sight to See: Danali, Alaska
A Hike to Do: Mount Whitney
A Place to Eat: Sage in Aria Hotel, Las Vegas
A Person to Meet: Billy Joe Armstrong
An Experience to Have: Feel content doing nothing
Do More: Listening and Yoga
Do Less: Complaining
Be More: Patient
Be Less: Flaky
Spend More Time: Writing
Spend Less Time: On my computer
Random Wish: Make travel videos
Bucket List: Write a book
Word of the Year: Breathe

New Year’s Resolution: Not to make one ♠

Miles Traveled: 24,444
Countries Visited: 6 (US, Holland, Sweden, Italy, France, Switzerland)
Poker Tournament Cashing Record: 1 cash in 22 tournaments
Most Amount Weighed: 172 lbs
Least Amount Weighed: 151 lbs
Current Weight: 159 lbs
Proudest Accomplishment: Getting in the best physical shape of my life
Best Workout: Biking around Lake Lugano from Italy to Switzerland
Best Thing I Did: Move to Italy
Coolest Thing I Saw: Statue of David
Inspirational Moment: Watching the sunset at the top of Sillman Pass in Sequoia National Park
Hobbies: Writing, Italian, Cuisine, Travel, Reading
Best Meal: Montecristo Ristorante, Milano
Food of Choice: Sweet Potatoes
Drink of Choice: caffé shakerato (shaken iced coffee)
Alcohol of Choice: Scotch
Clothing Items Purchased: 0
Favorite City: Venezia, Italia
Books Read: 18
Favorite Read: Biography of Michelangelo: Bruno Mars, The Power of Now: Eckhart Tolle
TV Show: Homeland
Movie: Midnight In Paris
Song: Littlething, Jimmy Eat World
Artist: Taylor Swift
Role Model: Rafael Nadal
Estimated Hands of Poker Played: 250,000
Word of the Year: Meaning
Lamest Moment: Hearing people celebrate the beginning of 2012 while writing this blog
♠

If you were given a button that tells you exactly when you are going to die, would you push it?

My vote is yes. Even if the information is painful, I’d like to know what could be the single most valuable factor in altering my immediate future. To illustrate, let’s take the following scenarios:

1) The hopeful and most likely scenario: I die ~ 50 years from now. Daily life doesn’t change at all. Business as  usual.

2) Still very possible: I die ~ 25 years from now. Daily life remains the same, but future plans are altered. I consider not having kids or having them immediately. Vacations are taken more readily. Liquidate 401k. Why save for retirement?

3) I have ~ 10 years to live. Huge changes are made. Travel much more frequently. Put bucket list in full effect. Skew goals toward immediate changes and influence. Commit more time to writing. Hold off on the little ones.

4) I have ~ 1 year left. Drop everything except two or three activities: write a book, visit Paris, eat at Noma. Spend more time with closest loved ones. Abandon all long term plans.

The closer we get to our expected death, the more important the information becomes. The most effective strategy for action packed living and increased quality of life is when we assume we have little time to live. It seems the optimal course of action is to live our daily lives as if we only have five years left. (This still allows for long terms goals: kids, retirement, etc).

Remember the semester long homework assignment your teacher gave you? Almost everyone does two things:

1) Assumes the assignment must be hard because they give you so long to complete it
2) Doesn’t start working on it until the last week

When we deal with abstract amounts of time we become overwhelmed. As a result we under perform. We believe that it’s too hard to realize our goals. And like the long term project, we procrastinate until there is no time left.

Time is our most precious commodity. I would love to know when I’m going to run out. In fact, I would propose a trade: Give away a fraction of the time I have left in exchange for the information I want. That is, of course, assuming I still have time left to give. ♠

I register for the Epic Poker Mix-Max Event a day early to avoid the nuance of being seated at the same table as the geniuses who show up late. Unfortunately, everyone has the same idea. After presenting Doyle with the first ever lifetime membership award, I make my way to table three and sit down in the two seat. We begin six handed with house hold favorites such as Sam Stein, Yevgeniy Timoshenko, Shawn Buchanan, Nam Le and young gun Pro AM qualifier Tony Gargano.

I splash around the first level and chip up from 50,000 to 55,000. Play is tough. Nobody gets a walk and three bets are as frequent as raises. On the break, I decompress with a game of air hockey and ping pong with Sorel Mizzi. He beats me for $40.

Level two begins and the two vacant seats are filled. Michael Mizrachi is seated two to my right. He raises nearly every hand and bulldozes his way to 70,000. With the blinds at 150/300 and a 25 ante, I finally get a chance to open in the cutoff with 6c 8c. Tony defends in the big blind. I flop gin: 4d 5c 7s. Tony bets out 1,200, I raise to 4,000 and he calls. A 5h pairs the board on the turn. I try to conceal a cringe. Tony checks. I’m scared of a full house, but I bet 6,500. Tony calls. The river is a king. Tony thinks for a while before finally checking. I value bet 13,000 into a pot of 23,000. Tony methodically counts his chips. He slides them back and forth, tipping them over like a tower. After thirty seconds he stacks them. “He’s going to shove,” I thought. He pushed forward his messy stack of chips toward the center of the pot. All 28,600 of them. His shove was reluctant, almost apologetic. I’m disgusted. I almost call out of spite, getting 4:1. Before the tournament, I promised to breathe during each big decision and focus on patience and discipline. After pitying myself for my misfortune and lamenting at my idea of having a decision, I start thinking.

I replay the hand in my head. What hands does he check raise here? On the flop, he bet and called a raise. If he has a made hand, the overwhelming majority is two pair or a set (specifically, 45, 57, 44, 55, 77). Since the flop is rainbow, the only draws he has are combos: 56 and 76. He also could have flopped a straight and given how he acted, I feel there is a small chance he has 88 – JJ.

Once he calls 6,500 on the turn, it skews his holdings more toward strong hands and less toward pair + draw combos and over pairs. On the river, he looks down at his chips, a strong indicator that he wants to bet. He delays checking for twenty seconds and my read is that it is not because he is trying to induce a check but rather feign weakness.

Back to basics. Can he really be bluffing? It seems close to impossible. Still, it doesn’t make folding fun and something about only having to be right 20% makes me want to justify a call. However, losing 16,500 in chips represents over half of my remaining stack and would leave me crippled if I’m wrong. I mull for minutes. I conclude he never has a worse hand unless he’s bluffing and bluffing seems too risky given the price I’m getting and the possibility that I have a full house. Depressed, I fold.

Over the course of the next three levels, I play very few hands and bounce back and forth between 15,000 and 20,000. With the blinds at 400/800 with a 100 ante, Mizrachi opens the button to 2,200. I shove for 15,000 with Kd 8d. Without asking for a count, he calls and I know I’m in trouble. He turns over Ac Qs. The cards don’t fall my way and before long I’m vacating the premise.

During my walk of shame I ponder why I continue to play major live tournaments. Surely it’s not for the money. The variance is so ridiculous that it may take lifetimes to actualize your long term expectation. What is it then? The fame, notoriety, competition? During the glacial elevator ride to my car, it all seems silly. I know better than to focus on fame and if it’s just competition that I’m after, there are always cash games. In 2012, I aim to be more disciplined with those. Only time will tell if this is another post tournament rant or the beginning of change. ♠

This is an column I write for Epic Poker detailing a key hand between Erik Seidel and Chino Rheem. To see details of the hand, click here: http://www.epicpoker.com/broadcast-information/main-event-key-hands.aspx

Poker’s beauty lies in the unknown. In poker, each movement from your opponent represents a characteristic, each expression a plot element, each bet a chapter, each hand dealt an entire novel. Through the course of the careers of Chino Rheem and Erick Seidel, they have amassed a library of information, each tale having a dramatic effect on their perception of each other. In the following hand, it was a lifetime of reading that led to one of the most spectacular displays of talent that our game has to offer.

Preflop – Seidel (raise)

Seidel opens the cutoff, which he will do with a wide range of hands. How wide depends on what he thinks of the three-betting frequencies of those yet to act. Because he’s risking 70,000 to win 70,000 (the blinds and antes) combined with his likely positional advantage after the flop, raising is good. However, against an extremely aggressive button like Chino, there is cause to worry.

Preflop – Chino (call)

Although you could argue for 3-betting, I prefer Chino’s decision to call. With a hand like Q-T that he can play for value, it is counterproductive, because his opponent calls with stronger hands and weak folds weaker ones. It also opens the door for a creative four-bet from Seidel, which puts Chino in a bind. For a three-betting range, Chino should be fairly polarized, reraising only with hands he’s willing to Put Erik all-in preflop ( 9-9+ and A-Js+) and complete garbage (K-3, 8-6, J-4s, etc.)

Flop – Seidel (bet)

On a dry flop like Ac-Ah-Kd the likelihood of both players having strong holdings is remote. Rheem’s holding ranges from 8-7o to A-A, roughly 40% of the deck. Seidel, smart enough to know this, bet the flop, representing a premium hand. Although you could argue for check-folding to a player as aggressive as Chino, continuing with flop aggression is good for range balancing and leads to a direct win a large percentage of the time.

Flop – Chino (call)

Although Chino knows Seidel will continue the majority of the time here, he fears Seidel’s hand more than Seidel fears his. Folding is always an option, but Chino didn’t get this far by being passive. Although a raise can win the pot directly and severely limit Seidel’s options, he represents a minuscule portion of the deck. The hands he would raise for value, namely those with an ace, he would most likely flat-call on the flop, both for range balancing and to induce further bluffs from Seidel or get value from inferior hands. Perhaps most relevant, if Chino has a hand like Q-J, Q-T or J-T, it is still the best hand. (Q-T, of course, is Chino’s actual hand but at this point, his actual hand is less important than what he is representing.) Unless Seidel has an ace or a king, even if Chino’s hand is inferior he gives himself a chance, by calling, to improve or outplay Erik. With this in mind, I really this call by Chino, not just with this particular hand, but his entire range.

Turn – Seidel (bet)

Seidel’s small turn bet (40% of the pot) serves two purposes: to protect against free cards and maintain control of the hand. If Chino called the flop with a hand like QJ, JT or QT, he has thirteen outs against a pair of sevens, roughly one-third of the deck. Checking puts Seidel in a tough spot because Chino will inevitably bet, both with his floats and hands that dominate Seidel, forcing him to fold. In other words, a check from Seidel allows Chino to play perfectly against him. You could still argue for a check here, simply because Seidel should never get called by a worse hand. I disagree. Against a player as aggressive and tricky as Chino, I like his bet, and particularly his sizing. Finally, Seidel also bets this way with his strong made hands, which serves as a way to merge his range.

Turn – Chino (raise)

Chino broke one of poker’s golden rules. Know your opponent. This maneuver may work against inferior players, but Seidel is no guppy. Chino calls the flop hoping Seidel will check the turn. Once Seidel bets, Chino’s must consider how often Seidel is bluffing. Presumably this frequency is low for Seidel must fear that Chino is holding an ace or a king. For Rheem, folding is standard. The two arguments for not folding the turn are weak: (a) It will likely result in the final action in the hand which allows him to play near perfectly on the river, and (b) he could improve to the best hand. But against a potential strong holding from Seidel, it is not enough. Raising is even more controversial.

When Chino raises, consider the hands he is representing. You can narrow this even further by excluding many hands containing an ace (as he sometimes raises those on the flop). As played, he would almost certainly call, to both control the size of the pot and because very few cards help Seidel to improve. With his super premium hands, 7-7+, he would also call to induce action. When Chino raises here, the majority of his hands are complete bluffs. To Rheem’s credit, he correctly discerned that Seidel was weak. Unfortunately, Seidel’s just too good.

Turn – Seidel (call)

Seidel’s read is absolutely brilliant.

River – Seidel (check)

A check on the river is mandatory from Seidel, a play he should be doing 100% of the time. If Chino’s bluffing, he must let him continue. If he’s beat, he gives himself the option to re-evaluate. This is just basic math for Seidel.

River – Chino (bet to put Seidel all-in)

Chino put himself in a tough spot. To successfully bluff, he must consider what hands Seidel is calling a raise on the turn but folding to a shove on the river. Seidel’s particular hand is the absolute worst he can have and given that he is still calling the river with that, bluffing is a mistake. (It’s important to note that there is no difference between a pair of sevens and KQ, because from Seidel’s point of view, both beat only bluffs but lose to any ace).

Much of the reason I dislike Rheem’s raise on the turn is it leads to poker’s equivalent of compounding interest. Chino credit, if any, comes from his optimism that Seidel will conclude that nobody in their right mind would bluff here and his undying faith that Erik will fold. Chino has given Erik essentially the same decision he gave him on the turn. Even though Erik previously called, putting Chino on a bluff, Chino is hoping Seidel will second-guess that earlier call, especially because it requires him to call all-in.

River – Seidel (call)

In the same way that Chino committed to his river decision on the turn, so too must Seidel with his action, given that Chino could be bluffing the turn. His brilliance, a marriage of hand reading and physical observation is something all pros practice. This call, however, was for his tournament life, at the final table, with every payout difference being significant. Most pros would rather risk all their chips betting than calling, but Erik had the confidence in himself to make a call under the most possible pressure

Conclusion

As extensive as the concepts are, the combined hand reading is always a distant second from sheer intuition. In any battle, instinct trumps all. This was a hand that critics, pros and fans alike, will remember, analyze, and debate before finally shaking their heads and saying, “unbelievable.” These rare examples inspire us not only to play the game, but to improve.

Chino shouldn’t lose much sleep. It’s not that he did everything wrong, Seidel just did everything right. This hand showed Seidel at his best, not Chino at his worst. Still, it was to Chino’s credit that when he found himself heads-up for the championship with Seidel, he could get past losing this hand, learn from it, and eventually win the tournament.

“The problem with chess,” Tom Dwan said to me, “is that it is a solved game.” Poker can never be truly mastered because the decisions are contingent on people. Where robots struggle, humans prevail. Math leaves no compression for the emotion of tilt. So long as emotions dictate our actions, poker will remain a puzzle. Constant in mystery, changing in style, eternal in appeal.♠

Monday, November 7th, 7 AM

“I’m not going,” I protested as she dragged me out of bed. “Isn’t there an afternoon class?”
“Mio Torelli. You’re never going to learn Italian if you don’t study.”
“What’s the plan again?”
“Get there early and say that you want to preview the class.”
“Where is it?”
“I left a map of the campus here,” Cat said pointing to the desk. I have to meet my colleague. 8:30 Torelli. Don’t be late!”
“Can I get a kiss?” But she was already out the door.

The campus was surprisingly beautiful. Palm trees escorted the footpaths. On the grass, herons, ibises, sandhill cranes, geese and squirrels lived in harmony. The multitude of lakes gave the wildlife a five star residence.

The spectacle was beautiful not to capture. Despite the questioning stares of passing students, I laid down on the grass to snap this photo.

When the teacher arrived, I was already seated. I took a deep breath and approached her podium.
“Hello Professor,” I said. “My name is Jake. I emailed you about sitting in on your class today.”
She scrolled through her gmail. “Sì certo. Siediti lì,” she said pointing to an empty desk.
I took a seat in the back. Next to me, a guy lifted his head off his book, the price tag still on the front cover. He gave me a nod.
”Sup,” I said nodding back.
He introduced himself. “Hey bro, I’m Max.”
“Jake,” I replied. “Piacere.” ”
“Huh?” He looked dumbfounded.
“It’s a greeting used…never mind. Nice to meet you.”
“Word.”

“Ciao ragazzi,” the teacher began. Her outfit was simple: blue jeans, white tank top and sandals. Had I not known better, I could have mistaken her for a student. “Oggi dobbiamo ripassare per il nostro esame,” she said. Blank stares omitted from the room and I felt better about my modest understanding of the language.
“You have any idea what she’s saying?” Max asked while the professor scribbled on the white board.
“Not a clue,” I joked.
“Me neither. You new or something?”
“Sort of,” I explained. How’s this class? Worth taking?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. Italian’s tough man.”
“What about the teacher?” I inquired. “She seems cool.”
He raised a mischievous eyebrow, his tone dropping to a whisper: “Bro, she’s hott.” His head bobbing up and down like a buoy. “Man I’d like to…”

“Trentatré trentini entrarono a Trento tutti e trentatré, trotterellando,” the professor continued. The vibration of her “r’s” gave her intonation a poetic ring. In italiano its called scioglilingua,” she said. “Come sei dice in inglese?”
“Tongue twister,” one of the students shouted.
“Esatto. Now re-peet after me.” Her English proved she was Italian.
Silence. The professor hand selected several unfortunate students, all of whom failed miserably.

Simultaneously on my left, two girls practiced amongst themselves. The blonde, who was almost certainly a sorority president, albeit beautiful, sounded more like a dying cat than a purring one. Her friend, short, round, brunette, wore a short black shirt she couldn’t pull off, and sheer grandeur topped with an unfortunate belly button piercing were no match for my eyes.

“Train-tar-ay train-tiny en-tra-o-no- a-uhhhhh, I’m never going to get this,” said the beauty.
“I know and we have a test this week. I’m literally going to leave the whole thing blank,” complained the beast.
“She doesn’t teach us anything.
“All she talks about is food anyway,” said the blonde. “Like who cares?”
The brunette wisely chose silence.
“All I know is she better not give me a B in this class,” continued the princess.
I laughed. She darted me a look.
“Is the professor nice?” I asked the blonde.
“Oh, she’s the best,” she said rolling her eyes. “You’re going to love her.”
I wanted to tell her: “I already do.” “What’s your name by the way?” I asked.
“Jessica.”
“Nice meeting you Jessica. Thanks for the advice.”
I stuck out my. Instead, I got another look.

When the class ended, I got up to leave. “Jake,” the professor called as I neared the door. When I turned around she was staring at me.
“I need to speak with you?”
“Am I in trouble?” I asked.
“Yes,” she smiled. “Very much…”

Laying in bed that night, class resumed.
“I had fun with you tonight mio Torellino,” she whispered as we cuddled on her bed.
I pecked her face. “Ankio bimba.”
“I think we ate a little too much thow.”
“Though,” I corrected her.
“How do you pronounce it?”
I thought for a moment. I set my tongue at the base of my top front teeth and tilted my head back so she could see. “Put your tongue here,” I instructed. “Good. Now perch your lips forward and say “the.”
“The,” she repeated.
“Brava,” I complimented. “Now say, ‘go
“Go.”
“Bene. Now put them together but drop the ‘g.’”
She formed her thoughts. “Th-o,” she said. I gave her a kiss.
“Perfetto.”
“What about ‘threw and ‘through?” she asked.
“Well, there is a difference… Except they sound the same when you say them,” I joked. She made me repeat ‘threw, through, throw, though and tough fifteen times.
“It’s kinda like “Trentatré trentini entrarono a Trento, tutti e trentatré, trotterellando,” I said tripping over each syllable.
“If you want to practice, just say: Though its tough, the pitcher threw the baseball through the wall.”
She sighed. “Mi arrendo,” (I give up) she conceded, pounding her fist on her thigh.
“No,” I reassured her. “Non sei orrenda.” (You’re not horrible) I said.
She laughed as she pointed out my mistake.
I brushed her hair back over her ears. She smiled softly.
“You know what I rather say?” she asked.
“What’s that bimba?”
“I love you.”

Like the quickness of summer as a child, our time together came to an end. At the airport we said our goodbyes. During our final embrace, I slipped her a note:

“I had an amazing week with you. I can’t wait until Christmas.”

Love,
Testolina

P.S. Give Max an A. Fail Jessica.♠

This is a blog I write for Epic Poker (www.epicpoker.com) called HeartFelt

When I was a kid, my favorite movie was The Sandlot. I watched it so many times that I could do a voice-over for the entire film. In the eyes of a ten-year old, watching Benny hit a ball over the fence and outrun “the beast” inspired me to play baseball. It wasn’t the thoughts about the majors, endorsements or winning the World Series.

When I turned sixteen, everything changed. A new ambition interrupted my desire to be a baseball player: poker. Instead of home runs and no-hitters it was big bluffs and one-outers. There was no greater feeling in the world than waiting for the 6th period high school bell to ring, knowing that I was on my way to a friend’s house to test my wits at poker.

Now, eight years later, a $10,000-buy-in World Poker Tour event is … just another World Poker Tour event. With each passing tournament, it has become more about the winning and less about the joy of playing. I forgot what it was like to play poker because I loved it.

Just when I needed a dose of reality, I got invited to the 6th annual Hogan Series of Poker (HSOP), hosted by Hogan Meyer himself. As a UNLV student and a dominating force on the local cash-game circuit, I knew he would be on top of his game. It wasn’t going be like the high school days, where I could sweep through. After a disappointing finish in the Epic Poker League’s inaugural event, I was still looking for my first cash in 2011. With 18 entries each paying $100 and a field of veterans like Hogan, Dean, Ronnie, Spencer and Dan, I would have to earn it.

When you fall off the high horse, you have to get up slowly. In anticipation of the big day, I did my normal tournament prep: went on a run, ate a hearty breakfast, and uploaded my favorite playlist. When I walked into the room, the players gave me the stare down. I felt their heavy expectations. I didn’t want to crumble under pressure. I couldn’t.

Each player started with 3,000 in chips with the blinds at 5/10 and a 1 ante. Rebuys were allowed during the first two hours. Just when I thought I had my table figured, Marty, famous for the deadly limp and call, strutted in late like Phil Hellmuth. The table fell silent as he drew for a seat. “Please not here”, Ronnie whispered to me. He picked the card and began walking right at me. Ronnie’s face filled with terror. “Is this seat five?” he asked pointing to my right. “It is,” I said with a sigh of relief, consoled by the fact I had position on him. The first hand, we got all the money in. Five cards later, I had to rebuy. So far, not so good.

Fortunately for my ego, I redrew a seat at the opposite table. “Do ya’ll run cash games here?” I inquired to one of the players.

“Do we run cash games?” he said smugly. Like a waiter, he pulled out a menu titled “The List.” It had every permutation of poker one could imagine. Games I’d never heard of, like Chinese Baseball and Lucky Swingers, were played in limit, no-limit and pot-limit format, where fearless contenders anted up anywhere from $5 to $50. “You guys wanna hit up the casino this week?” I asked.

“Well, are you over 21?” he asked. “Because there’s a casino called Commerce right by here. It’s actually the biggest poker room in the world”. I sat back and smiled. “What expectations?”

A few hours later, I left with a fourth place finish, securing my first cash of the year. With $200 spent in entry fees, $5 tipped to the house and $3 for the dealers, I took home a total profit of $8. After stopping at Gelato Paradiso on the way home to enjoy a well deserved coffee and almond ice cream, I ended the day up $4. Baby steps Torelli.

Cone in hand and with my new found riches, I wondered how long it had been since I’ve simply enjoyed playing poker. The passion that drove me toward professionalism, the joy of needling someone after you stack them, rabbit hunting just to see if you got there, and the excitement of staring down your friend wondering “does he got it?” were gone.

In the HSOP there were no politics. Nobody cared about your online screen name. It felt good to be back in the game with the gang, getting “walked” without doing anything. One of the best things about poker is that it affords you to play as equals and communicate not by words, but by the courage of your bets and the conviction of your reads. That’s what makes it one of the most popular games in the world, a game that I am proud to play for a living. ♠

“Can you help me remember how to smile
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile
How on earth did I get so jaded
Life’s mystery seems so faded”

Runaway Train – Soul Asylum

San Remo, Italy at the rocks of inspiration

We made the trek from Parma to San Remo in record time. The drive boasted little villages and picturesque scenery of the Mediterranean. We arrived at the Royal Hotel just in time for dinner, and after indulging in gossip, gnocchi and gelato, we went to bed in anticipation for day one of the European Poker Tour. With some of the biggest expected fields in EPT history, I made sure I was up in time to be ready by noon. But to nobody’s surprise, the tournament started two hours late. Italy. I played patiently for the first ten hours, attempting to avoid catastrophe. Unfortunately, as the day came to an end, I stepped on a land mine, and just like that, I was out. It was my twelfth consecutive tournament without a cash, which was quickly becoming one of my more expensive habits.

As I debated what to do next, I sat on my balcony watching the sun grow weary. The Mediterranean was covered in wooden blocks with little white flags attached by strings, flowing into the horizon. The trees swayed blissfully in the wind, with birds whistling heartfelt songs. I spotted an elderly couple walking by the rocks, which extended 100 meters info the sea, forming a pier of sorts. The man energetically helped his wife, carefully bracing her shoulders with each passing step. Their newlywed love radiated to my balcony, transforming my tilt into tranquility. I felt a presence, yearning for attention like a crying child does to his mother. Having no choice but to tend to the tears, I made haste for the rocks.

I raced down the steps in front of the hotel, past the laymen at the pool, past the cars stuck in traffic and past the streets thronged with people. A light perspiration came over me as I set foot on the rock formed pier. I started my hunt like a mouse searching for food. Perhaps there was a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered. Something, anything. Half way down the pier, I paused to catch my breath. I gazed down the coastline, the clear blue water rippling into infinity. I picked up the pace, hopping quickly from one rock to the next. As I neared the end of the pier, I turned around to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Behind me, I saw nothing but layered houses waiting patiently on the hillside like a tiered audience. Thousands of them lined up to fill the auditorium, the price of admission extortionary. The sun set behind the viewers, boasting a vibrant display of oranges, yellows and reds. I turned to face the sea but was greeted only by a swift current. “What now?” I said aloud, but a gale blew chills down my spine. “Sssshhhhh” it said. “Okay, okay” I screeched. I tip towed warily toward the end of the pier, listening carefully for the wind’s whisper.

Left alone in pristine solitude, I nestled myself on a lonely rock and sat in stillness. The currents floated toward shore like a ballerina gliding across the stage. The sound of the waves soothed me, like a singing mother does to her child. I breathed deeply, astonished by how something so simple can go unnoticed. Reinvigorated, my mind surrendered to the moment, liberated from thoughts of chores, work and life itself. I closed my eyes freeing myself from distraction. I listened intensely to the melody of the ocean. The waves played the piano of the sea and the wind accompanied her, tickling fervently on the strings. The birds, compelled to join, chirped on their flutes in harmony. Just as I settled in to her affection, the thunderous roar of the cymbal sounded, as the waves crashed upon the rocks. As tide rose, the music crescendoed, reaching full forte. The wind, violent now, blasted against the rocks and sea, misting my face with pleasure. Louder, louder, yet in consummate exaltation, each note held to perfection. The sea, bellowing in all its fury, seemed proud to play for all eternity, as long as I’d listen. Their labor owed no debt, slaving away as they had done for all eternity. I felt the epic finale approaching, though only perceived by my human understanding of time. The symphony became too much to bear, forcing my eyes open, the music ceasing as quickly as it had began. I erupted into applause, giving thanks for such an awakening rendition, but there was nothing except birds, rocks, water, wind and peace.

~~~~~~~

Some days we wake up and realize that everything we need is right before our eyes. Yet we often pass by and sneer without the slightest hesitation, as to a beggar on the street. Most drive, some bike, a few run and others walk, but we pass just the same. Very few stop. Even less watch. Nobody listens. I took a moment, just one tiny moment to listen. To gave thanks to the sea who played proudly for me. To the rocks for granting me permission to rest. To the birds for their enthusiasm, and to the wind for her calming whisper. We can relish thousands of these evanescent, penetrating instances, if were merely stop and listen. And who knows, once in a while, we may just witness a masterpiece. ♠

“Life moves pretty fast, if you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you just might miss it.”
- Ferris Bueller

Nelson, New Zealand

Tuesday, July 26th

This week, I’m having what you might want to call a quarter life crisis. In the aftermath of online poker meltdown, it’s a pertinent time for reflection. While questioning is often a healthy activity that can lead to personal development, if left unattended, it can cause unnecessary stress, leading one to fret over every permutation of their future. Unfortunately, I’ve fallen victim to the latter. I’ve been all over the place, bouncing back and forth between activities like a pinball. Even focusing on the most trivial task such as taking out the trash seems overwhelming. If my mind were a computer, it would be running at full capacity with far too many items in the recycle bin and perhaps a virus. To illustrate, we’ll back track three days. On Sunday I got up ambitious about writing a book. On monday I was pursuing an online business venture. Today I am planning a backpacking getaway to Alaska. This Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde existence has become quite the burden. In all seriousness, I envy the two of them, for they’re fighting a battle amongst themselves, while I’m taking on an army of personalities, each one with a different agenda. Surely this is normal for one in their 20′s and I’m merely the victim of a disillusioned reality. Perhaps I just need time, rest and sleep. In my frenzied state, it’s easy to blame the fast paced culture for all the opportunities it presents, friends for wanting attention and Vegas, for well, being Vegas. But, regardless of whom I chose to blame, one thing is for certain: my situation isn’t improving and the distractions continue to plague me like mosquitos.

In a confessing conversation, I was offered a way out. “Why don’t you just turn off your cell phone and unplug your internet for a week. See what happens.” “You’re crazy,” I retorted, as if the notion were akin to Full Tilt unexpectedly stealing millions of dollars from its players. I dismissed this nonsense without giving the idea much credence, as if I was somehow contractually obligated to carry a cell phone. But after another day of distress and bordering on insanity, I conceded. As I unplugged my phone charger and disconnected my cable modem, I felt my heart pulsate. It’s the feeling after you pass through airport security and finish storing your luggage in the overhead compartment, only to realize you might have left something at home. What was I going to do for a week without my cell or the internet? I couldn’t imagine such a world. Had I already forgotten the simplicity of my life in Parma?

I miss you Italia.

~~~

Wednesday, July 27th 9 am

I woke to the light shining through the curtains. I laid in bed for a half hour before moving, since, of course, there was nothing to do. I decided to make myself some food. Something felt different but my breakfast was the same: oatmeal seasoned with cinnamon and pumpkin, topped with mixed nuts and fresh fruit. I took a bite, the delicious berry combination exploded with flavor. As I was enjoying the bowl, I realized my problem. It had been a long time since I’d simply eaten breakfast, or simply done anything for that matter. I neglected to mention that during the course of a meal, from the time I lit the stove to the time I finished the last spoonful, I also managed to stretch, checked my email, chat on Facebook, sent at least three texts and made a phone call. And I eat fast. It’s the online poker player in me, wanting to 12 table every aspect of life. Damn you, Full Tilt! Unfortunately, while being able to play 12 tables simultaneously is a valuable skill in the poker world, it doesn’t translate well into stretching while making oatmeal.

Try doing 12 things at once and all you end up with is nothing.

~~~

Wednesday, July 27th 10 pm

The rest of my day continued in this manner, enjoying each activity independently. Is this what I was so afraid of? For the first time in a month, I spent the day doing what every moment should be full of, just living. It was a breath of relief, like finally paying off an overdue bill. I viewed the activities which I previously deemed stressful through a new lens. While working, I asked, “Is this something I need to be doing right now?” During times of leisure I asked, “do I really want to be doing this? If the answer to either was no, I skipped them. Why stress when I can come back to it later, when the activity can be filled with passion? I came to terms with the fact that most things can wait till tomorrow. Life is short and if I’m going to do something, I best be enjoying it. I needed to be warned by Christopher Walken like he did with Adam Sandler in “Click”: “You’ve been living your life on auto pilot.”

In poker, as in life, auto pilot can be an expensive habit. On the table, it means not being fully cognizant instead of analyzing each situation independently. In life, it means going through the motions instead of being fully aware in the present. In a recent conversation with my friend Alan Keating, he shared some valuable insight on a recent experience. Seeking a change of pace, he escaped the Las Vegas Strip to spend an afternoon at the mall. While drifting through the shops, he struck up a conversation with a sales lady who was standing outside a woman’s shoe store. She was twice his elder. He asked her a simple question in passing: “how are you?” Mistaking it to be rhetorical, she didn’t respond which has sadly become the norm. He waited with fixed eyes, a mixture of arrogance and genuine curiosity. Realizing he was serious, she muttered, “I’m okay.” Pause. “How… are you?” she asked sheepishly, aware that this was the first time she meant it in a long time. One phrase, sparked a catalyst of conversation, and four hours later, Alan left the store with something not even the nicest pair of handmade Gucci’s can provide.

I measure the level of simplicity in my life by the amount of time I spend reading and writing. To no surprise, this month was zero, save for this pithy piece. If I had a magic button that I could somehow press to see how many times I’ve asked: “How are you?” and waited for the response, I’d dare not push it. Am I really too busy to care? Sometimes, I mistakingly think so, but I must prioritize, for what could be more important than sharing a connection with those around us? Instead of merely accomplish a task, I should simply enjoy it. Instead of running an errand, I can use it as an opportunity to take pleasure in the people I encounter. It doesn’t have to be a four hour heart-to-heart, but can be as effortless as three little words: “How – are – you?” To care for the answer to such a fundamental question can make all the difference, for it is a recipe for humanity.

Simplicity. Patience. Caring. Three ingredients of the dish we savor the most, happiness. ♠

"Black Diamond" on Highway 1, California

I love cars. Ever since I can remember my dream car was a BMW convertible. When I turned 16 and won my first $12 playing poker, I began writing out equations to determine how fast I could win one. Five years, 10,000 dedicated hours and 2,000,000 hands of poker later, I walked out of the dealership with a brand new 2007, M6 convertible. “Black Diamond” (“BD” for short), was perfect. For months, I drove around on cloud nine, helping cops meet their ticket quotas. Like Andy and Woody in Toy Story, we did everything together. When I had a bad day, I took her out and she helped me to forget. If I wanted to run, she was the ideal companion. We’d go for hours with no destination in mind, her top down and the wind in my face. She gave me a feeling like none other. For the first time while driving, I felt alive. In return, I cared for her every need: I cleaned her when she was dirty and fed her when she was hungry. Sure she ate a lot, but I didn’t mind. I loved her and she loved me. Life was good.

I recently returned from Italy and like any good toy, “BD” was waiting patiently for me. But just like when Andy returned from college, something was different. “BD” was older now and wanted more attention than ever. Unfortunately, I was getting older and couldn’t play her silly games. She needed new tires, an oil change and her alignment adjusted. She constantly needed to go to the dealership to be serviced. I began to suspect that she was more time being driven by someone else. When the mechanic finally dropped her off I couldn’t run a bloody errand without stopping for gas. I forgot how much she ate! Furthermore, she’s not very practical. What if I wanted to carry luggage? Worst of all, I was nervous leaving her alone. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want her? The recent stress of our relationship meant we spent a lot more time “arguing” and a lot less time “playing.” “BD” and I had grown apart.

Lately, I’ve been driving around in an Expedition that is much more suitable to my needs. She carries everything, loves when I bring friends and because she’s so loyal, I never worry about leaving her unattended. And best of all, she never complains. If something grows wrong, she can protect me. But what about “BD?” Some days, I miss her like Romeo does Juliet. That feeling of total freedom that, no matter what, my Expedition cannot provide.

Recently, I’ve been asking myself: “what do I really want my car to do?” The easy answer is everything, but its just not realistic. Fortunately, I’ve found a perfectly acceptable solution. I use my Expedition for errands and “BD” for cruising. The real problem comes when I try to apply the same logic toward women.

Over the past few years, I’ve treated relationships a little bit like cars. You know, a long drive here and quick shiny one there. Some were passionate, others were practical. Eventually I came to realize that life is complicated enough with one car. But just like your car is not going to get 60 miles on the gallon, have a convertible top, outrun a Ferrari and last longer than the Energizer Bunny, it’s unlikely that I’m going to find a mate that’s driven, loves backpacking, is passionate about writing and wants a family. She’s probably not waiting for me on eHarmony.

It’s heartbreaking but I may never have another “BD.” Even if I buy a faster and shinier Lamborghini, she’ll never replace the “BD” that opened my eyes to a whole new world of driving. In some way, she will be a part of me, forever. I know “BD” can’t drive around a family. She can’t even carry my luggage. I’ve considered parting ways with her, but the idea of never taking her for a spin is a sad thought… after all Andy never does get rid of Woody.

Yesterday I went for a drive with my Expedition. I took her to the Top of the World to watch the sunset. I rolled down the window. As I gazed into that blazing sphere, a light breeze flew up from the ocean. I closed my eyes, it kissed my face, and just like with “BD”, I could feel the wind. ♠

“You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so we can fly away
We gotta make a decision
We leave tonight or live and die this way”

- Tracy Chapman