Something just isn’t relaxing about my last win.

As I completed forming the piles of spades, hearts, diamonds and clubs, my emotions of this last bout of Solitaire were not focused on conquest, but instead on hesitant enjoyment. My win was not because of skill, perseverance, hard work, and knowledge, but instead because of Lady Luck and her dictatorial decision to reward my efforts with the right randomly generated cards.

Solitaire is a game I cannot enjoy.

My heroes are those who can be clutch and dependable. Michael Jordan didn’t wait for a lucky bounce against the rim, he controlled the game and its score. Derek Jeter built his legacy by making plays when they counted, and not when they were statistically easy. And say what you want, but a band like Oasis couldn’t break out of the largely unemployed city of Manchester without dedicated work ethic and a self-belief in victory.

I can believe in those heroes because to some extent they can control their destinies. You can’t believe in someone playing Solitaire.

There are a few easy rules to remember when playing Solitaire, and suddenly, all players are on equal footing. No amount of practice, skill, or art will give a player an advantage. Players of this game are dependent solely on handouts from Colonel Chance and Lady Luck.

It’s a lot like life. Some of us try to play life as a game of odds. There are risks, there are rewards, and in the end we’re the result of a calculation of our culture’s variables. Life can be looked at as a card game based on chance — the cards your dealt can dictate your life.

Others ignore the numbers and stretch themselves far enough to get past life’s standardized path. Life can be about more than living by the odds; if our heroes can do it, so can we.

While everyone else is waiting for a the right cards, I’ll play my own game with my own rules. In the end the odds might be the same, but it’s more fun to fight the good fight.