Of course we all step to the plate with visions of home runs, applause, and glory. We tap the plate, full of hope and expectations, and we wait for the pitch.
Life doesn’t often give us slow, fat pitches for us to blast into the stratosphere. But still, we hope. White picket fences, porch swings, tropical vacations, steady employment, a nice car, friends, family, and local establishments where our names and faces are familiar. That’s the ideal we have been taught to aim for by our parents, grandparents,
and our country.
It never seems to work out quite that way though. We work hard toward those goals,
and the easy pitches never come. We swung for the fences and grimace as the
curveball completely fools us.
The transmission of the car goes out. The mortgage balloons to an unrecognizable
figure. The forever relationship comes to a crashing end. Curveballs. Or sliders. Or
splitters. Nothing is easy.
We adjust our stance and grit our teeth in preparation for whatever life throws at us.
Visions of easy home runs have fled, as all we want to do is stay alive by getting on
base.
When the curveball comes, we’re ready for it, and we smack a smooth single into left
field. Standing on first, we figure out what we need to do to score. Grab the new
opportunity, move to second base. Use whatever is inside to plan the next step. You got
this.
Curveballs can be blasted too.
