In brief
In a candid exploration of her experience learning mahjong, Melissa Kirsch reflects on the challenges and rewards of stepping outside her comfort zone. Despite initial hesitations, the journey leads to unexpected connections and the embrace of a new community pastime.
One afternoon last week, I convinced a friend to join me at a restaurant in Brooklyn for an introduction to the game of Hong Kong-style mahjong. The striking bakelite tiles and their satisfying clacking sound had long captivated my curiosity. My mother participates in the American variant weekly with a dedicated group, a tradition that leaves me longing for my own regular game. As we settled in, around 15 eager yet inexperienced players gathered to learn. We began with a dummy round, all tiles displayed face-up, allowing our insightful teacher to guide us through the game's nuances: setting up the table, building a wall, and determining who gets to break it. We learned about the various tile types, including suit, honor, wind, and dragon tiles. The initial learning curve proved steep. Our teacher excelled at repeating the rules, encouraging us to echo back each segment for clarity. While familiar patterns reminded me of other card games, the specifics felt overwhelming: how do you form a pung with three identical tiles? How did someone else win while I was still figuring out the flower tiles? Doubts mulled in my mind, prompting an unsettling thought: why was I investing time in learning this when I rarely played any games at all? Such self-questioning almost drove me to abandon the lesson midway. The discomfort of learning can feel daunting, especially when we naturally gravitate towards activities we already master. Growth often entails struggle, and with life’s myriad challenges, it's hard to justify signing up for more. Who has the mental space to integrate another new endeavor? Yet, days later, my surprise arrived when my friend told me, “I got us a mahjong set. We need two more players to start a game.” Memories of our lesson resurfaced, along with my earlier inclinations to flee due to my ineptitude. The discomfort of being a novice can be disheartening, creating an urge to stick to familiar skills. However, her invite represented a chance to build a community. It offered a shared space where we could embrace our novice status and work towards mastery together. Perhaps this pursuit would evolve into a cherished tradition akin to my mother’s gatherings—a club where everyone can relish the experience of being a beginner, fostering connection and camaraderie.
