Reverse

`Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'
`That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.
`I don't much care where--' said Alice.
`Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.
`--so long as I get somewhere,' Alice added as an explanation.
`Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, `if you only walk long enough.'

-Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

During graduate school, many years ago, I signed up for two economic courses on Game Theory. Through the use of games we analyzed insurance, wages, auctions, hiring, kindness, sports, education and many other topics. In some games players moved at the same time, or they took turns, or they had different amounts of information. Either way, when we would set up a game we would start at the end, review the best outcomes, and then play the game in reverse to determine which moves to make. Backward induction was the term we used to refer to this method. I still think about these principles several times a month. They have changed the way I parent, how I listen to stories, my role as a consumer and even how I view death. I’d like to share some examples.

My older children (ages four and two) regularly ask to help with tasks that they are not quite able to do yet. They each started doing this once they learned to talk. It varies from cleaning, to yardwork, to — well, honestly, just about any chore they see me doing. I’m delighted by their desire to help and yet I know that if I say yes the project is going to take longer than it needs to or I will have to redo it later. So I have to decide to say yes or no. Looking at this in reverse I ask myself why I am doing the task in the first place. What is the payoff at the end? The deep answer is I do these chores, complete my work, because I want to freely spend time with my family. All of sudden it becomes very easy to say yes, to let my children help even if water is going to spill all over the kitchen floor and leaves are going to be blown in the opposite direction I want them — because I am already at the end of the game, spending time with my family.

I have a book problem. I like to read, but I love to get books. A portion of gift money from nearly every birthday and Christmas is allocated to books I want. Naturally I have trouble reading them at the speed I get them, so shelves in my house are filled with unread books that I’d like to read someday. Which maybe is the real reason I want them — to have the option. But there are days when I look around my house at the things I own and wonder if I will ever read them again, ever watch them again, ever listen to them again. And I’m certain the answer for some of them is “no”. Other times I look at the globe in my son’s room and ponder all the places I will never visit, or places I have visited that I will never travel to again. The finitude of this realization can be morose, but when I look at this in reverse there is a liberating invitation. I’ve probably already read enough books to know how to treat others kindly — so though I continue to read it is less to learn and more to remember. I’ve probably already seen more sights and landscapes than most people in history — so while visiting somewhere different is exciting, charting the map of my home is nourishing. Once again I am at the end of the game, already having what I am wanting.

To start at the end and work backwards, I have discovered, simultaneously makes the current moment more real and more fleeting. Precious is the word I would use to hold these together. More real in the sense that you can’t skip anything. In Game Theory we didn’t just skip a move we didn’t like, we made a decision and then moved forward (or backward) in the game. COVID-19 isn’t an episode that can be avoided any more than Christmas Day can be paused. Which is what also makes it more fleeting. All of these joys, sorrows, fears, hopes, anxieties cease to be the song and, instead, become the fleeting notes that contribute to the entire symphony. A symphony that is beyond you, but wouldn’t be complete without you.     

So while parenting and literature may not be what my professor intended when he first introduced my class to 21 Stones and the Prisoner’s Dilemma, I hope that these examples might help you see through this moment, to see the future and the past, and not miss the preciousness of right now.

May you learn to see four moves ahead as you journey through life. Not to make yourself the architect, but to readily enjoy the beautiful event you have been invited to. May you not be discouraged if you feel stuck in your current position, but confidently anticipate the notes ahead and adjust your approach. And may you, my friend, embrace your non-linear path and find your true equilibrium.