One week into summer, and I feel I’ve already failed one of my post-grad goals: my personal Friday column.
The idea: an disciplined attempt at well-crafted opining.
However that is not what this is. We’ll blame this week’s long list of errands (dermatologist, DMV), coupled with the week’s early hi-jacking from the stomach flu.
But this week I’ll start with paltry attempt at something I learned today. At a local magazine, touring the facility and glancing over their color-filled offices, over boxes of shoes and clothes and crafts for future photo sessions, I discovered that I’m doing the wrong thing. In trying to do sports, I’m proving myself wrong over and over again. Within five seconds, I unraveled a year of work to discover that I’m literally in the wrong place at the wrong time.
As much as I hate admitting this – I want to delete it and believe it’s not true – my year plus spent feigning a knack for sports has only taught me that sports isn’t for me. It doesn’t make me tick.
There are countless times when I should have realized this. Try the third grade, on a soccer field in South Georgia. The other soccer team was bigger, was rougher, and we wanted to go home. My dad, the coach, tried to trick us into wanting to win mid-game, teasing during half-time, “What do you want to do, just go home?” To which the scared squad of girls replied in unison, “Yes!”
Over the last month, in my pathetic effort to finish the written portion of my Senior Thesis – how much I loathed the isolation and the work to the point that I didn’t really do it – I had started to question my route as a writer. This attempt, in conjunction with my largely failed attempt at sports, has been enough to make me physically ill at the sight of the blank page, or worse, at the fear of something I’ve written.
I probably could have guessed that sports wasn’t for me in the eighth grade, when the kickball flew over my head in P.E. because I was more intrigued by my split ends than the game at hand. Sure, it was eighth grade and awkward and nervous, I was afraid too that I would look stupid trying to play (and being bad at it), but if sports is in you, it’s in you. It wasn’t in me then, and it isn’t now.
There are other things I’m good at, it’s just not confined to back and forth competition on any field, rink, or court.
We’ll see though. Two weeks ago I could have slept through graduation, but now that it’s over, I feel somewhat accomplished. Perhaps once this season is over (the Lightning keep on winning), something will stir again.
Here’s to a finding the right fit, to self-discipline despite forgetfulness, and to Friday.