You Won’t Win Them All

But how you handle the losses says a lot

By Bill Plessinger

“You lost today, kid, but that doesn't mean you have to like it.”
--Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

Everyone wants to win. Everyone wants to be a winner. As we grow up, we are told that we can be anything we want. We can do anything we like. Unfortunately, the world has other plans for all of us. Not everyone gets to be an astronaut. From the time I was old enough to dream, I wanted to be a jet pilot. Military blood is in my veins. My father served his country in Korea; my brother was in the Air Force. My dream was extinguished at 8 years old when my left eye was severely damaged in an accident. I have had broken bones and hospital trips since, but that eyeball is still the location of the only stitches I ever received. The damage and the eyeglasses that followed meant the dream of being a pilot was gone.

Photo: © Can Stock Photo / gstockstudio

I still planned on going into the military, knowing there were plenty of other opportunities to serve. Nine years after the accident, I went through the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) and military physical. The aptitude marks were high, but I kept getting shuffled back to the base optometrist. After 12 hours of back-and-forth, I was told the damage automatically disqualified me from any chance of service. The Air Force recruiter could have told me that months earlier and saved me the hassle, but what’s done is done. The diagnosis was a gut punch, and the end of a chance to serve my country.

It was time to regroup and come up with a new plan—college, and then the workforce. Thirty years later, I wouldn’t change a thing. I didn’t know how well it would turn out, but one never does.

Odds Are … You Still Need To Try  

I think about who I would have been if the rock that smashed my ocular cavity had hit me half an inch to the left or right, half an inch up or down. Maybe I would have had a busted nose, maybe a broken tooth. But there also could have been a bad concussion or brain damage. Even if my eye hadn’t been damaged, the dream of flight probably wouldn’t have happened. In 2019, the applicant odds of becoming an Air Force fighter pilot were .3 percent. That is three in 1,000.

Why do I tell you this? For two reasons:

1.     Because you don’t make the odds. You don’t control which side of the coin flip you will get. However, you do determine your attitude and the face you show to the world, even if you are hurting inside. It costs nothing to show gratitude to others and appreciate your successes and blessings.

2.     Because, at some point, you will lose and it will hurt. You will fall. You will fail. You will make mistakes that have consequences. But if you are not failing every once in a while, you are not trying hard enough. If you are not reaching for a goal you could fail at, you will never know what you are capable of.  Failures are temporary. Push on and hold fast.

Head Held High

At the aquatic facility in Westerville, Ohio, we always hire pool managers from the ranks of present lifeguard staff. When we make our choices, there are invariably those who don’t get promoted. How they handle the decision is usually telling whether we made the right choice. While none of the lifeguards want to hear they didn’t make the cut, some put their best foot forward and continue to grow, learn, and perform the best they can. Some apply again and are promoted at a later date. On the other hand, some don’t make the cut and essentially cash in their chips, work less and less, or just quit. We recently had one guard who applied three times before being promoted. That truly shows character in the face of adversity.

I recently received a letter from a former lifeguard named Sara, who is now a nurse; she told the story of how she had to perform CPR on an infant who had been brought into the hospital where she worked. Although the infant passed away, Sara knew in her heart that her compressions were solid, and she had done her job to the best of her ability. She was thankful for being taught the importance of CPR and having the skills hammered into her month after month, year after year. She guarded our pools for years and never had a serious incident. Years later and miles away, the skills came back automatically. If she had not been trained and taught exactly what to do, it would have been much scarier for her, although the outcome probably would have been the same.

When my military door closed, another opened. Because that dream didn’t come true, the dream that is my life now is being realized. There are ups and downs, but I appreciate every day. Whether you are still above ground or not, life will go on. But it is better with you. Present choices define your future. The book of your life is not finished. Go write the next chapter.

Bill Plessinger is the aquatic manager for the city of Westerville, Ohio. Reach him at william.plessinger@westerville.org.