Izobel is 4 now.

She’s layered.


And interesting.

And she teaches me lots.

Right now, Izobel is teaching me The Joy of Losing.


I can be a bit of a dick sometimes.

Trying to be right just for the sake of being right.

And nothing good has ever come of this.

The momentary smugness is not good for me.

It’s nothing I want.

And it is replaced by emptiness within seconds anyway.

As I notice the ‘wrong’ person’s feeling of defeat.

As they cast their eyes downward.

That’s good for nobody.

The Joy of Losing

With Izobel.

I lose games.

I lose arguments.

I lose felt-tip pens down the back of the settee.

I lose the opportunity to watch football.

Because The Grinch is on instead.

And I lose face.

Because a 4 year old Izobel feels cleverer than me.

Superior to me.

Like a winner.

And I love all that.

Never Wrong.

And so I continue to learn.

I learn the Joy of Losing.

Because I’ve learned that never being wrong.

It’s a terribly lonely place.

Mainly because the other arseholes you’ll meet there aren’t particularly good company.

And secondly.

Because it’s a silly, empty and temporary illusion anyway.

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