Why This Venomous Reptile Changed My Life

When I was in college I met the monsters living right in my backyard. Arizona is home to the United States’ only species of venomous lizard–a stocky bulldog of a reptile, appropriately named the Gila monster. Unlike snakes, whose venom is injected directly through specialized hollow fangs, this black and orange, two-foot-long lizard secretes venom from a gland in its jaw, and then it clamps down and starts chewing in order to introduce its venom into the bloodstream.

It’s rare for people to encounter them, but my odds of meeting a Gila monster increased dramatically when I applied for an internship with a local reptile veterinarian. Besides the exotic pets brought into the clinic, Dr. Jarchow was responsible for examining the snakes, lizards, and tortoises at the local zoo–including the Gila monsters.

Dr. Jarchow inspected the Gila monsters by hand, always keeping a full bucket of water on the table when handling them.

“What’s the water for?” I asked.

“In case they bite,” he answered casually.

“To wash the wound?”

“No,” he said, “They won’t let go, so you have to submerge them. They’ll let go to avoid drowning.”

Not only did this Halloween-colored demon iguana chew its venom into its victim’s flesh, it possessed a pathological stubbornness that could only be quenched by the threat of drowning.

But my initial feelings of shock and disgust gave way to a sense of awe and, strangely enough, admiration. Although I couldn’t understand this creature’s motivations, I was inspired by its perseverance and unwillingness to back down.

At that time, I had been a member of a boxing gym for about a year, and I had just started stepping into a ring with another boxer and practicing everything we’d learned. It was always a nerve-racking experience. I was far from the largest or strongest guy in the gym, and I didn’t even have the skill or experience to compensate.

But what if I could be the toughest? What if, no matter how hard I got hit, I would keep coming forward? Ignoring the reasonable voice in my head that assured me this was a bad idea, I looked forward to my next sparring match.

It went terribly. My sparring partner was so much faster and more experienced than I was, I could barely hit him. After three rounds of blocking his punches with my nose, I stepped out of the ring, thoroughly disappointed. So much for my Gila monster mindset. I wanted to apologize to my partner for such a poor match, but before I could say anything, he was thanking me.

“That was great!” he said. “I’m not used to having someone come forward at me like that. I was on my heels the whole time!”

“Oh,” I said hazily. “Thanks!”

That moment dramatically changed my definition of success and how I approach challenges. My focus had been on winning. Unless I scored the most points or earned the best grade, I wasn’t a success.

Judaism views life as an infinite game. It’s the effort that counts.

I left that boxing gym feeling like a winner for the simple reason that I had stayed in the game. Years later, I discovered Dr. James Carse’s book, Finite and Infinite Games, which beautifully described my new perspective. Dr. Carse writes that “there are at least two kinds of games. One could be called finite, the other infinite. A finite game is played for the purpose of winning, an infinite game for the purpose of continuing the play.”

Judaism views life as an infinite game. The Jewish sages teach, “According to the effort is the reward.” What matters is the ongoing effort to improve; to continue an adventure that has no finish line, despite our desire to invent one.

My approach to life had become a series of finite games. But now, covered in bruises, I remembered the joy of simply “continuing the play,” and it changed everything. Even my education, which had been so GPA-centric, returned to the experience of learning itself. Organic chemistry was the hardest course I ever took, but I felt I was exploring a beautiful and mysterious new universe, and it was awesome. I got a C-.

Even our relationships can slip into a finite mindset. I realized I had been hyper-aware of how others were evaluating me, which meant that I couldn’t be in the conversation and allow a true relationship to develop. Instead of trying to “win” popularity, I decided to approach others with a sense of playful openness, and it made my interactions both more enjoyable and more meaningful.

What alienates others is the sense that we’re simply trying to score points – whether in an argument, a popularity contest, or a sparring match. But when they sense our genuine commitment, we become a trustworthy partner for continuing the play.

And when it came to learning genuine commitment – to sinking my teeth into something and refusing to let go – I never had a better teacher than the Gila monster.