My fiancée’s last birthday was a lucky day. After making breakfast for her, giving her my gift, and spending some time together, I opened a lot of Pokémon booster packs I had bought from someone on a local chat group. It was a rare opportunity to get some packs in English from a coveted set, and he sold them slightly below market value, so I figured, “Why not?“
The pulls were what you’d expect until I was halfway through the pile. Before I knew it, it sat there. The “Treekachu,” as collectors endearingly call it. An elusive, special illustration rare of Pikachu standing next to a tree in a forest. Rough market value? 1000 €. It was one of the few occasions when opening packs was actually worth it financially.
Of course, I was over the moon. I showed the card to my partner, friends, and family. I shared it in some online chat groups and forums. What luck to hit the second-most expensive card in an already-expensive set!
A while later, however, as I reflected on my day, I realized that, despite the extraordinary luck I had had, pulling the card had not been the highlight of my day. In the morning hours, I had written my partner’s birthday card. That was an emotional, beautiful moment. So was watching her read the card over breakfast. And then opening the puzzle box in which I had hidden her gift.
There are obvious moments in our lives we’ll remember forever. Beating the odds of 1500 to 1 and pulling this card will probably become one of them for me. But that doesn’t mean these highs will define us, let alone that we must keep chasing them. A tiny but meaningful memory can hold more power than even the biggest win.
The highs are relative. To the lows. To the boring days. And even to one another. Value is what you decide. Choose in a way that’ll bring you both contentment and resilience.
