Learning Mahjong in midlife has been one of the most humbling and surprising metaphors for life.
First, it’s pure chaos.
You have to tolerate ambiguity constantly because Mahjong does not make sense quickly (at least I couldn’t make sense of it quickly). It’s not obvious. It doesn’t ‘click’ after just one or two games. You sit there, staring at your tiles, wondering how everybody else seems to know what’s happening while you’re trying to remember the difference between a flower tile and a bamboo tile.
You have to let go — of your tiles, your perfect plans, and your illusion of control.
You think you’re building the winning play and then the whole thing can turn in a second.
You have to watch what everyone else is doing. You have to guess. You have to hope.
And sometimes, after doing everything “right,” you still lose.
You lose because the tile you need never shows up.
You lose because someone else gets it faster.
And you have to keep playing anyway.
Second, self-doubt is real in Mahjong.
You have to commit to a hand without knowing if it’s going to work — and you have to do it while the clock is ticking. Sometimes you think you’re being strategic, and then realize you’ve been backing the wrong plan for ten turns.
You have to fight the urge to cling to a bad hand just because you’ve invested in it. (Sound familiar?)
It’s frustrating. It’s heartbreaking. It’s hilarious.
And it’s an emotional rollercoaster that somehow manages to feel like a microcosm of real life. Mahjong has also taught me how much we need each other when we’re learning something hard. Especially in midlife, when let’s be honest — our memory isn’t what it used to be. We need the collective brain just to get through a game.
You argue about the rules. You swear you remember it right. You’re wrong. You laugh. You start again. You learn how to lose with grace, how to fight for what matters, how to start over without shame.
You learn how to ask for help.
You learn how to sit in the unknown without giving up.
And you learn — maybe most importantly — how to believe in miracles.
Because in Mahjong, just like in life, sometimes when it looks like you’re completely out of the game, a miracle happens.
A tile drops that you didn’t expect.
A new path opens.
A win shows up when you were ready to fold.
One of my favorite things we did in our Mahjong group was reflect on what our style of play said about us.
“I stay too long.”
“I picked the wrong play.”
“I can’t commit.”
“I keep changing and can’t settle.”
“I hold on too tight.”
“I gave up something valuable without realizing it.”
Tell me that’s not a mirror for life.
Mahjong reminds me why it’s so important to stay a beginner. To do something you’re bad at. To feel the awkwardness and the frustration and the thrill of getting just a little bit better every time you try.
For brain health, for resilience, for your spirit — you have to let yourself learn hard things. And you have to let yourself laugh along the way.
So here’s my questions for you:
What’s something you’re a total novice at right now?
What’s something you’re willing to be bad at — just so you can grow?
I’m learning Mahjong.
And I’m loving every messy, maddening, miraculous minute of it.
A big thank you to @mahjonglex!
