11:16 a.m. YOU! May already be a winner! It's what the envelope says. Wow. Today's your lucky day.

Do you Really Want to be a Millionaire? asks Regis. Well, sure, you say. Are you sure? Are you really, really sure? Winners never quit, you know. That's the secret. Ya gotta know when to fold 'em. That's the ticket. Hmmmm.

Many people believe the ditties they recite. There are so many of them ... and you will be told, doubtless, that the truism didn't make it into the language unless it really worked. But then there's this slogan: Don't believe everything you hear. How do you live with the obvious contradictions if you would like to be successful and happy and productive and a good citizen, all in the same lifetime?

Opportunities abound. Leave no rock unturned. Let sleeping dogs lie. Climb every mountain. Don't go under the apple tree ... do you get the picture? How about: To thine own self be true.

Today is the day that the voting ends in the world of the journal awards. In a few days the winners will be announced. For every winner in every category, there will be two losers in that same category. I voted last night, and I actually felt sick in my stomach when I consigned one journal to the winning pile and two others to the loser heap. And make no mistake about it, no matter how many times the Academy makes you say: "The award goes to ..." instead of "The winner is ..."

Make no mistake. Two people will feel like losers. One will feel like -- and may even attempt -- jumping for joy. And then what? A day or two passes. The loser is slowly starting to feel better again ... and the winner? The winner doesn't feel so good, actually. Invariably some thing or some one will come along to nip and tear at the good feeling, throw some indelible ink onto the perfectly made bed, piss all over the beautiful snowy perfection of the moment.

Your joy will be forever ruined. And that's not so surprising, really -- you didn't even deserve it in the first place, right?

So while the loser is now putting his life back together, stronger and wiser for the experience, getting happier by the day ... the winner is out there all alone. Getting sadder by the minute. Nobody to turn to.

Have you ever wondered why the very same people who never really believe they're going to win the lottery will always believe that the one and only airplane they board is surely going to crash? Why is it easier to believe the worst than it is to believe the best?

If you hear that one-in-ten of us will contract a deadly cancer, why aren't you dancing in the street and saying: "Huzza! Raise a banner! There are nine chances out of ten that I won't get cancer!" Hip hip hooray!

Have you ever wondered why it's so much easier to fail than to win?

I bring all this up because I wanted to say how much I know the stinging pain of defeat. My "rejection" file is right there in front of my "religion" file, praise be. My rejection file is not as big as it should be because I'm not as brave as I should be. The letter (above) was very distressing, for instance. It took all the courage I could muster to send stuff out, and oh! the misery when it comes back, unwanted. And what do you do? How do you change your stuff to get it published if The New Yorker says -- it's too good for us? Who would even believe such a situation could exist?

Really, I just curled up in a ball and died inside. Shortly after this note came in the mail, I made my peace with the pain. I was happily at a temp job stuffing envelopes. And I do mean happy. Every single day I knew what they expected of me and I fulfilled their expectations. I went to sleep quietly secure for the first and last times in my life. Eventually, the lost unwanted words that I wrote began to come back and nip at my happiness, eventually tearing bigger and bigger pieces out until I was forced to admit I just wasn't happy anymore.

So began the long, long Iditarod back. This time I have vowed to do it right. I've had ample practice at losing. I've had some practice at winning. I've learned to keep the dogs fed, wear warm mittens, and to enjoy the scenery. The road has taught me its lessons, and one of them is this: Neither winning nor losing nor even New Jersey is a state you remain in for very long. Not if you take the I-95 and drive through the night.