Several years ago, my wife and I attended a Renaissance Faire. It’s an outdoor event that replicates life during medieval times, with jousting competitions, fair maidens, period costumes and tourists walking around gnawing on roasted turkey legs.
We saw craftspeople in booths hawking their handmade jewelry, artwork, clothing, and trinkets while calling out loud greetings to passersby: “Good morrow, thou strapping young lad – well met!”
One section of the faire included rustic games. For a few coins, you could test your skill in competitive games like Ax Throwing, Oaf Bag Toss, Bump a Monk, or Toss Your Cookies. We were mostly amused as we walked past the noisy booths.
But one game caught my attention: The Rat Race.
It was a crude, wooden maze, sitting vertically on a table about four feet high. There were four compartments at the bottom with hinged doors, and a cage sat off to one side with about a dozen rats inside. Each rat had a different color or had unique markings, and four competitors could select which rat they wanted to use in the competition.
Then they would put the rats in their boxes. On a signal, they would remove a board, which would free the rats to climb the maze to get their food at the top.
I couldn’t resist. I paid my coins, picked my rat, and waited anxiously. The host of the booth brought our rats to us and introduced us by name.
My rat was Winston.
The host then put the selected rats in the hinged boxes at the bottom. On a signal, a worker would remove a board, freeing the rats to climb the maze to get the food treat waiting at the top.
The energetic host whipped the crowd with cheers for each rat. “Huzzah for Winston!”
That lasted several minutes, which turned out to be just a little too long for Winston.
The game started. The board was removed, and three rats raced to the top.
Winston had fallen asleep in his box.
I lost the rat race.
My consolation prize was a small, ancient-looking piece of paper with the words, “I LOST THE RAT RACE.”
I kept that paper in my wallet for a long time as a reminder. It was surprisingly true.
People get caught up in the “rat race,” trying to get ahead at work and make their mark in life. We compete with each other and forsake our values, health and sanity for the sake of profit and status.
But that’s the wrong race.
It’s the rat race.
And nobody gets out of it alive.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m all for achieving great purposes and reaching goals that make an impact. I’m passionate about helping people get “unstuck” in life and make a difference. That’s what I do for a living.
But that’s a different race.
When we find ourselves running the rat race, we become addicted to adrenaline.
It’s movement without purpose.
It’s making progress without making a difference.
Nobody wins the rat race.
But we can easily get caught up in it and not even know what’s happening.
It’s not that different from rats that jump into a wheel and start running. They exert a lot of energy but never go anywhere.
At the end of your life, you won’t win the rat race. Nobody wins that race.
Goethe said, “Things which matter most should never be at the mercy of things which matter least.”
Don’t waste your life pursing things that don’t matter most.
What race are you running?