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A secret blog containing the ramblings of a secret someone...

Sunday, June 25, 2006

 

Expert

I'm one of those people who mostly just likes things that I'm good at. Not surprisingly, this poses many a problem. If only I'd managed to tolerate stinking at "insert activity here," I'd be an expert "insert personal form of activity here."

Examples:

Piano
T-Ball
Track
Flute
Ballet
Hip Hop
Softball
Basketball
Volleyball
Sewing
Cooking
Painting

I've been missing softball lately. I've been having urges to play. But, given that I hadn't so much as picked up a softball in a couple of years, I was nervous. It's such a psychological game, really. I don't pick up a softball, therefore I don't practice. Therefore, I'm worried I'm no good. Therefore, I don't pick up a softball. And the cycle continues.

Anyway, I suggested that we go to the batting cages while I was home a while back. Sort of one of those future, non-committal, "oh-that-would-be-nice" sort of suggestions. My dad and I used to practically keep those batting cages open when I was in high school. They should have just given him a free pass given how much money we (he) spent. He'd been suggesting it all week and I--out of nervousness of sucking--was doing a good job at changing the subject mid-sentence.

Yesterday, we had about 20 minutes to kill. I suggested we play catch. I forgot how much I loved it. We only threw for a little bit, but it felt so good. And, I was actually pretty good, still. Some reincarnation of beginner's luck, I guess. Inspired by that, we headed to the cages this afternoon.

At these particular cages, it's quite obvious when the ball whizzes by unmet by the strength of an aluminum bat. The fast pitch softball is all the way at the end--sort of like a corner office, I guess. So, everyone (everyone) hears the thump of the ball as it hits the carpet at the back of the fence. Unsurprisingly, I was having second thoughts. The sky looked like rain, and I was crossing my fingers it would come before we arrived.

Alas.

We got in the cages. 3 tokens each, just to warm up. I figured I'd just bunt the first few just to get the hang of it. Oddly enough, I didn't need to. I was actually pretty darn good. I hit almost everything and half of the shots would have surely been base hits with a bit of strength in my run. Building off of that confidence, I headed to the fast pitch baseball. Amazingly, I was damn good there, too. I hit nearly all of them as well.

The high.

God (etc) must have taken note of my previous poor-attitude, however. Mid-way through the baseball, the guy came out and told us that there was lightning and we had to leave. Damn. And, I was just getting good.

Point being, if I would just getting over being bad at things, I think I could actually be pretty good. Sigh.

Comments:
It sort of reads like the issues it not so much you tolerating being bad at something, so much as your concern of other people seeing you being bad at something?

And while I am certainly guilty of falling into this same trap sometimes, I still want to ask, what do you care if a stranger (or perhaps even not a stranger, but let's stick with the stranger case first) hears you miss in the batting cages?
 
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