Get Your Head in the Game

There isn't a day that goes by that I am not inspired to try something new.  My ideas rarely become a reality, but at times I become so passionate about them, I can feel my new found plan right at my finger tips.  My husband has learned to listen to my ideas and dreams, knowing (and at times, hoping) that they will probably remain ideas and dreams. 

During the course of our marriage, I have suggested to my husband that I  pursue the following:  The FBI, accounting, the medical field, broadcasting, and journalism.  These are only a few of my engaging suggestions, and while he would support my pursuit in any such area, the problem has been consistency.  If I wanted to be a personal trainer one day, the next day I had the fabulous idea of becoming an in home nanny.  The nanny idea, incidentally, lasted about three minutes. 

Admittedly, part of my issue is contentment.  But then there's also the fear factor.  Trying something new just isn't easy.

A few weeks ago, however, I followed through and decided to try something new.

I joined a basketball league.

When the opportunity presented itself, I almost passed it by for many reasons.  First, the games take place on a night of the week that is just plain inconvenient.  Second, and perhaps most significantly, I haven't played basketball in a while.  Oh, in ten years.  But there was something in me that really wanted to go for it.  So, I did.

This week, we had our first game.  I'll admit, I did not walk into the gym with my head held high.  There was no sign in me of a confident, fearless athlete.  Instead, I walked into an unfamiliar facility with my knees shaking.  But, as I browsed around watching a few athletes do their thing, I talked myself into the fact that I could hold my own.  I could play and they wouldn't know, not for a second, that I was rusty at the game. 

And then I got a glance at the rest of the team.  It was then that I was forced to face an undeniable fact: I was not prepared for my new found adventure.

The other players carried gym bags filled with basketball- type equipment.  I carried in my diaper bag that I conveniently identify as my "purse."  While they pulled out special socks and shoes, I pulled out my kid's diaper and a barbie.  There weren't many laughs that ensued.  I guess I wasn't helping in getting our "heads in the game." 

The other players wore basketball shoes (I suppose this should not have taken me by surprise).  I, on the other hand, wore my glaringly white Wimbledon Tennis shoes.

And then, of course, there were the long basketball shorts.  I didn't have those either.

So, I shook off my nerves, and unfolded the shorts that I had folded over like I do at the pool, and introduced myself to the team.  Right away I made clear to the girls that I was excited to play but that it had been a while since I was competitive on the court.  Immediately, another team member chimed in:

"Oh, I totally understand.  It's been like six months for me."  I decided to not even attempt a joke about the TEN years it had been for me.

Once we were formerly introduced, we began shooting around.  My Wimbledon Tennis Shoes did me alright.  I was making basket after basket and, quite frankly, feeling pretty good about my game.

Then the whistle blew.  As soon as the ball was in the air, I panicked.  I couldn't recall which basket was ours.  So I just began running.  Thankfully, the whistle blew - almost immediately.  I felt a great amount of relief that I would have a second to gather my barrings. 

But then I realized....the referee was speaking to me.  "Take off your ring!  You could poke an eye out!"  After a failed attempt to be sarcastic about the true size of my diamond in the middle of a competitive game, it occurred to me that perhaps I was out of my league....on so many different levels.

None-the-less, I ran back with a renewed sense of competitive spirit - and fouled twice within the first five minutes.  I decided that while the competitive spirit was good, it would not be in my best interest to foul out in the first half of the game.

Because I run long distances, I wasn't sure why, only ten minutes into the game, there weren't other players wheezing like I was.  So I called out a sub.

While sitting on the bench, I did three things simultaneously:  I watched the Post players so I could remember what in the world I was supposed to do; I reviewed for myself the essence of the game:  sprint, rebound, shoot;  and then I listened to a "fan" strongly urge our players to consider various plays to run.  And then I began to laugh.

What in the world was I doing?  I asked myself the question out of humor, not disappointment.  It was humorous to me that I joined a group of young athletes whose weakest player had gone a whole six months without playing basketball and still scored within the first several minutes .  It was laughable to me that I was wearing the same shorts I wore to the pool earlier in the day, and it was even more funny that I thought I would join in and show everyone else how it was done.  Really, what in the world?

But I laughed out of humor, not disappointment.  I had more fun in that hour than I had in a long time, even though I did come home with a stiff neck.  And while I disappointed my son who thought I would be on T.V., I was proud of myself for trying something new.  I even scored six points.  I will admit, however, that even with that small boost of confidence, I still bought new shorts.

Creativity

I’m not creative, nor ever claimed to be. 

There were simply other gifts that were saved for me. 

My daughter, however, is quite inventive.

She makes things from nothing, with no real Incentive.  

On one occasion she needed a cast. 

An idea came to her unbelievably fast.

A long sleeved shirt became sleeveless in minutes.

I gave credit where due, but that reached my limits. 

On another day she threw a big bash. 

With no real decorations, she made her own stash.

So she cut and she tied and created a sight! 

But it was momma picking up till’ well past midnight. 

And then just recent, she took a long “trip.” 

She packed clothes and toys and a suit for a dip. 

They were off to the Beach, with nothing to lack…

It only took me three days to unpack. 

Then one day, trying to get my shopping done,  

The kids acted up, so I thought I’d have fun. 

I changed my voice and called myself Daisy.  

My kids laughed, though others thought I was crazy. 

It occurred to me, then, in the middle of the store:

I’m OK with the messes; there will no doubt be more. 

My daughter’s an example of a great way to live.   

Perhaps she's teaching me… how to be creative…