Like clockwork, my mom would respond with “life's not fair” whenever my brothers or I would exclaim that something wasn't fair.
I'll admit, being the youngest of 3, I probably complained about this the most.
I was always looking for an even playing field. As a child I thought that it didn't make sense—this idea that life just simply isn't fair.
As an adult I realize that it all depends on our own definition of fair.
What's fair? Who gets to decide? What are the tools of measure?
Is it fair that a child grows up without one of their parents? Or maybe they don't have parents at all and end up in the foster care system.
Is it fair that someone could work their fingers to the bone at two different jobs and still boast less annual income than someone doing half the work?
Is it fair for a guy in Major League Baseball to make a fortune because he can hit a ball with a stick? While firemen or police officers are often forgotten until we need to lean on their services?
As an adult, I can resonate with the proverb. Perhaps life isn't fair. But what am I going to do about it?
I'd be remiss if I responded like I did when I was a child. Unfortunately I think that's exactly what a lot of us do.
Instead of taking responsibility and our own fate in our hands, we compare ourselves to someone else. We harness bitterness.
It's the easy way out. To say it's not fair is to admit some sort of defeat or void that's taking up space in our life.
Maybe it isn't fair. I learned a long time ago that putting my time and effort into whether or not something is “fair”, is a waste of time.
Life is too short. I'm learning that now more than ever. (As I have my almost-three-year-old scolding me for saying a bad word. At some point in a recent rant I uttered the word “stupid”.)
But life is about moments and opportunities. We don't know when they'll come along, but they will for certain. And we can't afford to be focused on the things we have no control over. Otherwise, when the opportunities do come, we might miss a chance to level the playing field.