Sync'd

The universe is speaking to us. Stories and lessons about how I am learning to listen.

"The best moments in our lives are not the passive, receptive, relaxing times... The best moments usually occur when a person's body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult.”

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience

Coached

I grew up in the time before Tee-Ball. For the record it was invented in the 1950s but didn’t reach my hometown until the 1980s. Years later watching my nephews take their first swing at a ball resting on top of a pedestal, I wondered if leaning into my swing might have been possible without the fear of getting hit by a pitch. But the truth is, it wasn’t just the batting; at eight years old I was afraid to try and catch or even throw a ball. Maybe it’s because I was already trying to live on my own pedestal. A space where there was no room for mistakes, even trial and error.

Joining Little League, the summer after third grade, was a miserable experience for me and my father. Already labeled as “too sensitive,” the few times I was pulled off the bench and sent to right field, my focus was drawn to picking dandelions and thistles. When the signup paperwork was sent home the following year, I have a vivid memory of handing it to my mother. Looking at it painfully she said, “Let’s not put ourselves through it again this year.” Relief sent me skipping off to play Legos.

My parents separated that Spring and eventually divorced, so the pressure at home to perform in one of the major BALL sports was off!! Unfortunately, as we all know, the pressure is never off on the playground. Even my parochial grade school used the savage process of identifying captains and picking teams. I was picked last every time. Even teeny tiny Danette Tyler was picked before me. It was humiliating, but manageable because I excelled in other ways. Stellar manners. Finesse with art projects. Epic book reports. You get the picture.

My hometown is in southern Illinois, where the corn grows as high as an elephant’s eye, and it’s all about high school basketball, football and baseball. Even though it is a small and economically depressed town, we are still known today throughout the state as one of the most iconic teams – uniquely named the Orphans! Winning the state basketball competition in the 1930’s, a prominent radio sports commentator said that the team’s aging and tattered uniforms made them look like “a bunch of Orphans.” Leaning into the belittling description – we seized it as a symbol of pride. Can you guess the name of the young women’s teams? The Orphan Annies!

Back to me … soccer, competitive swimming, volleyball and lacrosse were not options in my school district. I played on the tennis team, but that counted against my masculine social currency. It also didn’t help that by the summer after my sophomore year; puberty was still an elusive fantasy. I was 5’2”, tubby with a squeaky voice and raging ache.

Here's the thing about my life that some of you can probably relate to. The complex and challenging things are often a walk in the park for me. It’s the simple stuff that I can’t seem to pull off. There’s nothing more American than seeing a father and son or neighborhood kids playing catch. My close friends were patient with me, but after one or two disastrous throws – I was done. I didn’t have the courage to stick with it. The problem with living on a pedestal is there’s not much room up there to get messy or make mistakes. As a result, I developed a deep phobia of throwing a ball in public. I could throw a fit … a party … and tons of attitude, but simply tossing any ball created tremendous anxiety.

As I’ve mentioned in other posts, I believe the universe will not cater to our weakness. There is an energy, call it God … spirit … karma … that provides each of us the opportunity to face, confront or embrace the fears and weaknesses we carry along in our lives. It should not be a surprise that the healing energy of the universe, throughout my life, has hurled, tossed, hit and rolled balls into my path with an inordinate regularity. From every imaginable place and direction, they rolled to my feet. It’s as if the universe was telling me to conquer the reticence, pick the ball up, and simply toss it back. But fear always took over. Ignoring the multitude of prompts from the beyond, I channeled complete oblivion, pretending the unwelcome athletic projectile didn’t exist and immediately redirected my course. I have shameful memories of an entire team of twelve-year-olds hollering for me to throw back their ball, literally sitting at my feet. But I would turn and walk away.

This ethereal mandate from the great beyond haunted me until reaching thirty-seven years old. That year, a close friend coaxed, cajoled and finally convinced me to join a softball team he coached for a dozen other athletically challenged and narcissistically wounded adult men needing to conquer the phobia of catching, throwing and hitting a ball. Let me point out that I’m not alone. The hosts on the podcast Smartless recently revealed that Justin Theroux with his chiseled jawline and physique, also avoids hand and eye coordination challenges that involve any ball sports. So, if you think he’s sexy, know that he probably, “throws like a girl.” No offense meant to the young women in the world, but that is the accusation thrown at me most of my life. For the record, there are studies indicating if you’ve not learned to throw by eight- or nine-years-old, your arm may never develop the full flexibility necessary to propel a ball with strategic force.

I vividly remember the first coaching session and insisting we find a densely wooded area along the Chicago lakefront. That way no one could witness my latest attempts at throwing after decades of running away. Safely secluded in a small, forested area, my friend suggested we start by tossing a tennis ball. My first throw lunged directly into the ground, and he calmly said, “Well that is as bad as it can get. No need to worry now.” That was the first powerful lesson from the universe. There is a feeling of safety when someone you trust affirms one of your weaknesses and stands in the presence of it with you.

From mid-May until mid-August, we played two games almost every Sunday. For the first two years I dreaded each game and every practice. We didn’t win a game until late in the second season, and that was only because the other team had to forfeit without enough players. But as a team we stuck with it.

My strength turned out to be catching, and first base became my assigned position. Slowly, my confidence grew, discovering I could catch almost everything. That said, getting the ball to third base was a crap shoot. I dreaded left-handed batters because they love to drive grounders down the first base line. Especially toward the end of a dry summer when the field was rock hard a grounder could hit a clump in the dirt and fly right up into your face.

One Sunday, in a late inning, we were only one run up and the stakes were high when a fierce grounder was hit toward me. I didn’t flinch with fear but a click in my head said, “you can get that ball.” As many of you have probably read or experienced, time slowed down and then the interior voice spoke with a newfound confidence, “you will get that ball.” I did, touched the base to get the out, and then threw a rocket to third base for a double play. At 62 years old, telling that story, I still get goosebumps from the vivid memory of that moment.

It may sound trivial, but the fear of picking up a ball and throwing it back, represented so many other ways I choked, hid, avoided what the universe or life was asking of me. Having the courage at 37 to trust my friend and stick with two years of practices and games, will always be considered one of my most valued accomplishments.

One enduring truth is that it’s quite simple to live a life aligned with what we want and need. It’s just not easy. So, when life throws a wild grounder that is racing toward you, threatening your safety, security, sense of self – take a deep breath, slow it down and create the space to make an intentional choice you’ve worked so hard to have within your reach.