Everything is a Gamble

If I had to guess, I spend between $500-1000 on books each year.

Most of them are a waste of money.

But the half dozen or so gems I find each year? Priceless.

Whenever I have to defend this practice, I point to a conversation Ernest Hemingway wrote about when reflecting on his years in Paris.

In this exchange, a bookseller asks Hemingway about the books he chooses to read (Hemingway’s replies in bold):

Weighing risks and benefits is important, but ultimately if something piques your interest enough and won’t kill you, you should try it!

Most of the things I enjoy doing and my most rewarding relationships are the result of seeking an end to my curiosity.

“Are they any good?” we ask ourselves when searching the bookstore, the grocery store, or the room full of eligible bachelors or bachelorettes (whichever’s your thing).

Sometimes one is.

“How can you tell?”

I can tell when I read them.

I can tell when I eat the dish I’m curious about.

I can tell when I talk to that person in the corner.

I can tell only when I try that thing I’m curious about; not a second sooner.

And the truth is, unless you’re extremely lucky, this way of life involves a lot of failure.

You’re going to look very stupid because you’ll have tried a lot of things or interacted with a great number of people you’re simply incompatible with.

And that’s ok.

After all, how would you know if they’re not for you if you haven’t given them a chance?

As the ancient Stoic Epictetus once said: “If you wish to improve, be content to appear clueless or stupid.”

Because just like the handful of year-defining books that justify my yearly spending, you will meet a small number of people and develop a few habits that survive the hundreds of failures, and they will make all of the “gambles” worth it.