THIS IS US

To answer the question posed in the title: it sucks.No shock there, I suppose.

And no, I’m not exaggerating.

If I still had the baseball card collection I possessed 30 years ago, I would be able to auction it for around half a million dollars today.

I thought about this again when I saw a story in the New York Times recently about the $12.6 million fetched at auction for a 1952 rookie card of Mickey Mantle — the most ever for a piece of sports memorabilia.

No, I never had the ’52 Mantle.

If I had, but now didn’t, the title of this piece would be far more shocking, not to mention depressing.

But I did have a Roberto Clemente rookie card from 1955 in good enough condition to be worth nearly $40,000 today.

I had two absolutely pristine Sandy Koufax cards from 1956 and ’57, which would easily fetch $75,000 now for the pair. Plus another gem mint specimen from 1965, worth about $15,000 more.

I had every Willie Mays card put out by Topps, the leading card company at the time, from 1952–1973, and though the quality varied, combined, they would be worth, conservatively, another $60,000 today.

I had 10 copies of Eddie Murray’s 1978 rookie card — actually got those fresh from bubble gum packs myself as a kid. One was in perfect condition, and the other nine were close. Combined value today? About $50,000.

I had three copies of Rickey Henderson’s 1980 rookie card, which, given their near-perfect condition, centering, and color, could have brought me over $125,000 in the current market.

Between these and others I won’t bother listing, the value I can easily estimate for the whole thing is just shy of $500,000.

That amount could be mine within a matter of days. If I still had them.

But I don’t.

In 1993, with student loans overdue and bouncing around from one low-paying job to the next, I sold the entire collection. I had always figured I would save it as an investment for the proverbial rainy day.

And by 1993, it was pouring.

In the end, I only got a fraction of what they were worth even then, let alone now. But it was enough to get me over the hump at a difficult time in my life.

For that, I was grateful and still am.

And that’s true, even as I think about how nice it would be to have that money now, as my wife and I pay for two kids in college.

Looking back, there are some lessons I took away from the experience. And if one is going to lose half a million dollars, one might as well learn something.

Those lessons are chiefly these:

First: Don’t possess art or any other collectibles just for their monetary value.

Collect things because you enjoy them or because they’re meaningful to you.

Sure, baseball card values have skyrocketed lately, but shortly after I sold mine, and for about 15 years after that, the market collapsed. So you can’t tell what will happen to a commodity with no real value other than what someone is prepared to offer for it at a given moment.

If you love what you collect — coins, stamps, art, vintage dolls, old books — even if its value tanks, you’ll still appreciate it. In my case, had I kept my cards, even if the values plummeted or I never sold them, I could still enjoy the rich history they represented.

Like the history of my 1948 Bowman Jackie Robinson — now worth “only” $9,000 in the condition mine was in — but which was issued just one year after Robinson broke the modern color barrier in the Major Leagues.

Second: There is way too much money in the hands of folks willing to pay for pieces of cardboard.

Honestly, I’m not sure who I feel worse for. Is it me, for not making all that cash, or the people who gladly spend that kind of money to possess baseball cards?

Frankly, there’s something a bit gross about spending house and college education money on pieces of aging paper.

Or even several houses money.

I mean, it’s better than another yacht, I suppose, or a private plane, or $50,000 birthday parties for five-year-olds. But you have to wonder if that kind of discretionary income in the hands of people prepared to spend it that way is a sign of social health or decay.

I’m pretty sure we’d be better off if everyone had good health care, food, and shelter and no one had enough money to spend $12.6 million for a 70-year-old picture of a notoriously mean and perpetually drunk baseball player.

At the very least, if people are going to have that kind of money, it would be nice if their value system was such that they found more productive and helpful ways to spend it.

Third: Do what you must to get through those torrential downpours.

Sometimes we have to do things we’d rather not: move for a job, start over when a relationship falters, or, in my case, sell off a treasured baseball card collection. But the fact is, we have to keep swimming.

It may seem like doors are closing on us in those moments when we’re down, and perhaps they are. But there are almost always other windows to climb through, doors to push open, or walls to knock down.

And if, in order to thrive, you have to move, cut off toxic relationships with family, ask for help, or sell something you dearly love just to keep your head above water, do it.

And finally:

Fourth: Don’t live in regret.

I could kick myself over selling all those cards, just like any of us could beat ourselves up over past professional decisions, relationship errors, or any number of bad judgments that we’ve managed to render.

But to what purpose?

Don’t misunderstand; when we act in ways that hurt others, we need to make amends. But that’s not the same as living in regret.

To live in regret is to remain stuck, dreaming of some alternative world that doesn’t exist in which whatever happened didn’t happen, or in which whatever didn’t happen did. But that world is make-believe, and imagining it as real will only drive one deeper into sadness.

Bottom line: We spend a lot of time looking backward. I’m doing it here. But not for the sake of living in the past or regretting it.

I’m looking backward to make the point that it’s okay to let go of what one must in order to move to the next level in one’s life.

Whether that’s anger, toxic friendships, or something of monetary value that can save you in a pinch.

It’s not easy to do. Sometimes it can be scary. But it’s a necessary part of personal growth and development.

And what I’ve gained after letting go of my childhood hobby — or at least the fruits of it — has been worth infinitely more than the money I lost.

Okay, that’s bullshit. The cards are definitely worth more.

But the lessons are still valuable. Not Roberto Clemente rookie card valuable, but valuable nonetheless.