How a lottery loss renewed my contentment

I am not a gambler, but I did gamble once. I have not gambled since.

The one time was work-related. I was changing jobs and my workmates organized a farewell gathering. Their gifts included a Lotto ticket that could be worth $21 million — the third-highest jackpot in its history at the time.

Now, my co-workers gave out of kindness and best wishes, but having a ticket for $21 million spawned emotions that convulsed me until the drawing. I recovered and am better but am still no bettor. Rather, I am like the Apostle Paul who said, “I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content” (Philippians 4:11).

Here’s how losing Lotto helped me renew my commitment to be content. This is a diary of that day, August 18, 1995.

12:45 p.m. Along with best wishes for my new job, co-workers give me a Quick Pick Lotto ticket with four numbers. I am uneasy.

Counsel by the Apostle Paul to a young understudy tipped me long ago against gambling. In his first letter to Timothy, Paul warned against “trust in uncertain riches.” What is more uncertain than gambling?

Nonetheless, I keep the ticket. My friends have been kind. This is a gift, and I am curious.

1:05 p.m. I have a meeting to attend. Slipping the ticket back inside the farewell card, I hide it under some papers on my desk. The ticket is good only to the bearer. What if someone sees it? These are people I have worked with for years, but I am suspicious. I am sad that I am suspicious.

4:35 p.m. I arrive home and break the news immediately. My wife and children want to see the ticket.

“What if we do win?” my son asks, his eyes wide with excitement. And that becomes the question that we discuss over dinner. This is no idle chatter; we could be millionaires.

Better are the green pastures of The Good Shepherd than the greenbacks of a state lottery.

My son, who is 11, stakes his claim. “I’d get a go-cart. I’d get the best one. The $3,000 one. And a million dollars of gas.”

My daughter likes the idea of a piano. A grand piano. “A Steinway,” she smiles. She also likes ice skating, and my 14-year-old Nancy Kerrigan wannabe decides her own rink would be wonderful.

My wife and I are practical. We’d pay off the mortgage. We could help our church buy the building it leases. Beyond that, my wife doesn’t know. Me? I’d splurge on a Pentium-equipped computer.

“Aren’t we materialistic?” I mutter as the discussion ends. I am troubled.

6:20 p.m. I call my sister, who is a Lotto veteran. I tell her, “We have a ticket,” and then explain quickly, “I got it as a gift.” She laughs.

“How do I know if we win?” I ask. She laughs again.

I am sheepish and Lotto ignorant.

9:00 p.m. “The drawing is just an hour away,” I remind my wife.

“Oh, that’s right,” she says. “I forgot about it.”

Not me. I am anxious.

9:45 p.m. My throat is scratchy, my nose stuffy, and we have a wedding the next evening. I should be in bed, but I stay up. I am hooked.

9:55 p.m. I am worried. An old question pelts with new force. What if we do win? We’ll probably lose our friends because we won’t spend the money the way they want. Our families will be mad when we don’t spend the money the way they want. We’ll be miserable if we don’t spend the money the way we want. Our relationship will vaporize in horrendous meltdowns. I am scared.

10:00 p.m. The television is tuned to Channel 20. We never watch Channel 20 at 10 o’clock. I am nervous.

Perched on the edge of the sofa, I clutch the ticket and a notepad in my left hand and a pen in my right. Bring on the numbers!

Up pops the first ball. Forty-four.

“Got it!” I cry. “Right here, third line.”

The second and third balls pop up. Twenty-three and five. Bingo! Oops, wrong game, but we have them both. Such beginner’s luck! But the significance of these numbers being on different lines eludes me. I am engrossed.

The next two numbers, 20 and 27, skip us completely. Reality slams like a shipwreck. No $21 million in this menagerie.

The last draw turns up 16. There it is on our ticket, nestled right between 23 and 5. We have three numbers out of six. I am half a winner.

10:10 p.m. Our trifle with Lotto is over. We still have friends, our family is intact, and we will muddle through with the rest of the middle class. I am relieved.

I also have an answer to the lottery’s catchy slogan, “You can’t win if you don’t play.”

You can’t lose if you don’t play.

I played. I lost. I quit.

Am I a sore loser?

Not at all. I am content.

How have you learned to be content? I’d love to hear. Leave a comment and let me know.

Apart from the revised introduction, this appeared on the Op-Ed page of The Hartford Courant soon after that August drawing.