That Time I Asked For a Sign and Actually Got One

For nearly ten years, I (along with some amazing partners) owned and operated a pub poker league in Phoenix that catered to the GLBTQ community.

At our peak, we ran 28 free No Limit Texas Hold’em tournaments in six different bars, 7 days per week. Players competed for points and prizes, and supported the venues by buying food and drinks. All completely legal, as long as the players didn’t have to “buy-in” or pay to play.

But it really wasn’t about poker.

These nightly events brought people who would otherwise never have met and interacted, together, building a unique sub-community in Phoenix’s gay scene.

In fact, it wasn’t all gay. We had a solid straight following too. So on any given night, you could have tables full of gay men, lesbians, trans, drag queens, straight men & women, and cross-dressers sitting right next to each other for hours at a time eating, drinking, laughing, and sharing their lives & perspectives under the guise of playing a poker tournament.

The first time I saw one of these tournaments being played, I knew they would be something special.

For me, they solved a dilemma. I enjoyed going out, but not alone, and not without a purpose (Even today, I struggle with just “hanging out”).

I didn’t want to be that one weird guy that sits at the bar alone and drinks, desperately wishing for two opposing things to happen: someone to come up and talk to me, and for everyone to leave me alone. I’m complicated.

But with poker, there was a purpose. Eight strangers sit down at a table and have something very specific to achieve. We’re there to play and to win. We can still talk, or not talk. We can drink, maybe grab a bite to eat. It was a perfect way for an introvert like me to socialize safely. I was in.

Like most things I experience and enjoy, I try to figure out how to turn it into a business. And that’s how the Alternative Poker Tour was born. It changed my life in unexpected ways.

It not only helped increase my own feeling of social connection, but gave me a sense of purpose too. This sense of community inspired massive fundraising events that genuinely helped people.

Players found love at the table, and more than a few eventually even married. Friendships blossomed. And those who once felt alone in a dark & scary world, finally found connection and acceptance.

Many of the people I met at the table or while I was hosting a tournament, made an enormous impact on my life. I experienced more kindness, love, and support, than I ever realized was possible. These kind souls were more than just players, they became family. Chosen family. And our connection quickly expanded beyond the poker table.

We had adventures together. We laughed, we cried. Some died. I held the hand of one of our players and said farewell just hours before he passed away.

And so when the time came to let it go, I resisted. I had insider knowledge of so many moments that changed our player’s lives. I knew what these nightly events meant to people. I was clinging to those moments.

But, as hindsight usually is, it was clear that I had been receiving signs for years that we may have outlived our purpose. I have a tendency to ignore, ignore, ignore, and that’s why in this current phase of life I am so actively working to listen to whatever voice is providing guidance.

Letting go of the poker league was born from such a listening experience.

It was March or May, 2014 or 2015 (my relationship with time is changing with age), and I was out of town, reading Pam Grout’s E-Squared: Nine Do-It-Yourself Energy Experiments That Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality.

 

At the time, the poker league, fun & meaningful as it was, remained unprofitable. It took an enormous amount of time, energy, and labor to run, but it just didn’t make money. I was at a crossroads. I couldn’t imagine shutting down a business that I loved, and had worked ten years to build.

But at the same time, I was experiencing growth and purpose with my other business too. I had to make a choice. So I asked for a sign. A clear one this time, Universe. One that was indisputable, and I couldn’t argue with or rationalize.

It was a Wednesday morning when I catapulted that request out into the ether. And that evening, for the first time in the history of our poker league, we had absolutely zero players show up to any of our tournaments.

Zero.

On a night when, between the two venues that played, we might have anywhere from 8-40 players, we had none.

Okay, that’ll do, Universe, thank you. 

The next morning, I had a conversation with my business partner, got him onboard with the decision (broke his heart too), and started sending the emails to our venues. We were closing in 30 days.

What came next was a shit-storm of emotions.

Epic grief.

Isolation.

Relief.

The whole spectrum of emotions–all the feels. I had to come to terms with parts of me that I didn’t know were there.

The need to be needed. Where did that come from?

The loss of identity as the “poker guy.” Didn’t realize I was so attached to that.

The loss of friendships that were linked only through the game. Oops, another naive projection on my part.

Despite all that, letting go was the right decision. It has served me and my greater mission and purpose in life. I started drinking less, going to bed earlier, focusing on my notary business more.

And that led to early mornings, healthy habits, writing & publishing my first book, creating my first course, and building the multi-million dollar business I’m proud of today.

Interestingly enough, and this is just occurring to me now as I write this, it’s the ten year anniversary for this business, and again, I find myself in another season of profound change (wait til you hear about these signs!).

There are these pivotal moments in the trapeze of life when, in order to catch the next act, you must let go of the bar you’re on, no matter how familiar it may be.