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I've had a pretty bad year so far. This is not anything new, of course. I am usually having a pretty bad year.
But for some reason, this one in particular has really gotten to me.
There were moments amid the anger and tears when I often caught myself saying, "I just can't win."
As I reflect back on that statement, I realize that I actually say this quite often.
"I can't win."
On those days when things just aren't going your way and you begin to wonder if anyone else anywhere in the world has to deal with the same struggles you have?
"I can't win."
I paused for a moment, taking stock of my life, and wondered if I ever uttered the words, "I can win."
I guarantee I didn't.
Then the other night, it suddenly dawned on me that maybe I am not supposed to win. I mean, after all, what is there to win?
Life isn't a game. (OK, Life is a game. But I'm not talking about the Milton Bradley version.)
Then again, perhaps it is.
Let's visualize this through the game of Monopoly.
The day we are born, we begin on "Go." It is then we start our journey.
We don't ever get to move backward, only forward. As is the case in life. Not the game Life, but our actual life.
There are no do-overs, no changing the past. We have to keep going around the board until our turn is over or we lose the game.
We have to keep pushing on until our last breath is taken from us. If we opt out before then, that is considered quitting.
No one likes a quitter.
There will be many stops along our way.
Cities and towns to which we have never been.
It could be Baltic Avenue or Illinois Avenue.
It could be Marvin Gardens, Pennsylvania Avenue or Park Place.
Our chances of where we end up has a lot to do with luck.
It also has a lot to do with how we make and invest our wealth -- or lack thereof.
As we pass through, there are some cities and streets in which we will find beauty.
And there are some places we would much sooner forget.
Places we will consider home. Enough so that we will even purchase a house or hotel on it.
As we go around our board, we have to be careful not to end up in jail.
And even though we hope to never land on that luxury tax space, it seems as if we always do.
Somehow we never get away with avoiding paying taxes.
Or avoid paying our utilities.
We always have to stop for railroad crossings. And who doesn't love the free parking space simply because it is something offered to us for free?
I believe Monopoly is more like life than the game of Life.
And although our goal is to win the game, there really isn't any winning involved when it comes to our real-life situations.
So the next time I subconsciously say, "I can't win," at least I'll know I don't have to.
I remember being 42 years old and out of the blue, I broke down crying.
That would normally be OK.
But this was in front of my children. And that is something I never do.
I have always, always had to remain strong for their sake.
As a single mom, I could never let them see me fall apart.
It's not in my nature. Because I had to be the strong one. I had to keep it together for all of us. If they saw me struggling or saw me failing, then I wasn't a good mother.
I did not want that for them. But this time ... this time, they saw me cry.
Naturally, they asked why. They were concerned and wondered what was the matter with their mom.
I now had to find a way to tell them that I was crying for not giving them the quality time they deserved. I never got to sit down and play board games with them when they were little.
Instead, I had to go to school for years and work hard to make all A's.
I was working up to five jobs at one time in order to support them the best way I knew how. Trying to further my education so I could get a job that would eventually become a career.
I was crying because I didn't get to have many moments bonding with them like a mother should. Through my tears, I told them all I ever really wanted was to sit down and play Candyland or Chutes and Ladders with them.
And we left it at that. A few weeks later, I can't recall what holiday it might have been -- Easter or my birthday, something along those lines, there were two packages wrapped up for me. Wrapped as if a teenager had taken as much time as they would like to have spent wrapping. It wasn't the basic two-liter pops I was accustomed to receiving either. And as I opened the boxes, those tears were suddenly back. But it wasn't just their thoughtfulness of buying Chutes and Ladders and Candyland for me.
It was the moment that three teenage boys gave up their time to sit down and play those games with me. It was one of the best days of my life. No, I can't remember what holiday or occasion it was. But I remember how I felt. And it was one of the greatest feelings I've ever had.
(Stenger is community editor of the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times.)