Skip to main content

Batter Up!

 
 
Life. Life loves to pitch the curve ball. You're standing at the base plate, the ball has left the pitcher's hand, you know it's coming for you, straight for you, you brace yourself, take a breath in......but then, the curve. Sometimes the curve is slight, you can still see the ball's trajectory, so you adjust your stance, quickly think of a new approach and prepare to hit it out of the park. More often than not, the ball completely disappears from sight.
 
When that happens watch out!
 
You relax, you drop your guard. No need to panic, there is no immediate threat, no impending danger, everything is as it was before the ball left the pitcher's hand. Yes, the ball is still out there, hurtling through time and space, however you can't see it anymore. Out of sight out of mind, right? Eventually you forget about it and carry on your merry way, until one day it shows up again and smacks you in fair in the face.
 

With blackened eye and bloodied lip, you limp back to the bunker, cursing your lack of attention, your moment of sheer naivety when you stupidly thought the ball would not eventually make it's way to where you are standing on the base plate. The game continues on without you while you lick your wounds and plan your next move. Next time it will be different, you will never let that happen again, you vow. You will stay focused, eye on the ball at all times, you will know the ball is present even if it disappears from sight and when the umpire calls "batter up", you will be ready.

Now you have a whole new game plan. Re-energised and confident you face the pitcher again. That cocky pitcher, who eyes you with an "are you sure you are ready for this?" smirk.

You stand at the base plate, the ball leaves the pitcher's hand, it's coming for you, straight for you, you brace yourself and take a breath in......

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Broken free

I made an angel. Created her out of clay. Painstakingly I sculpted and moulded her. I loved her. I loved her heavy wings, they way they sheltered her and protected her heart. I loved that tiny heart, the way she looked down on to it "I will always look after you" she whispered, "you are safe".  Until the day she broke.   My son rang me on my way home. His voice was shaky, apprehensive. "Something terrible has happened" he mumbled. Moving straight into mother mode, I panicked. "What is it?? Are you ok??" "I broke her...I didn't mean to... she fell...I tried to catch her...I wasn't quick enough"  Oh My god... who?, where? What the?????? "Your angel mum... she smashed!!" The poor boy. He knew I loved her, created her, protected her. But the sense of relief was instant. Just a sculpture, not a life, a girl or an animal. Just a sculpture. It wasn't long however that the realisation of what had just...
8 comments
Read more

Spiral Bound

I have a collection of journals. Writing Journals. I do not collect journals; however, journals seem to collect me. It’s true I do write and yes, in journals, however on closer inspection, I own a great many empty journals. Too many. The empty journals are not lying in wait, I did not purchase them knowing that in due course, I would fill their pages with beautiful prose, witty satirical observations, or heartfelt outpourings of emotion. In fact, I did not purchase them at all. The empty journals were gifts. Gifts for a writer. Carefully selected, each one. Some leather, silk and fabric bound. Some hand made with flower pressed paper pages. Recycled, reclaimed, re-purposed. From distant shores, India, England, Thailand. Leaves of possibility, tactile and tempting. I have journals with pages illustrated with moons and mermaids, clouds and clowns, pages tied with ribbons and some with jute. All empty, too beautiful to touch, to fill. When I open their pages…words fail me...
8 comments
Read more

Dream-song - A Tribute to Shavarnia

Once upon a time there was a girl. A girl with aspirations and dreams. Dreams of colour, of movement, of dance. Of spirit and angels and love. As the girl grew she was taught a great many things. How to walk, how to hold herself, what to think, what to wear, how to act. The girl with the dreams kept dreaming but her dreams were now in the background and her REAL life was all around her. Every now and then the girl would focus on her forgotten dream and in return the dream would sing to her. The dream-song was so beautiful. It sang of a life of purpose and peace. The girl tried to follow the music of her dream-song however she often lost her way and the song would fade into the background again. After many years of this following and fading, the girl fell to her knees and wept. She wept for the dream lost. She wept for the futility of her REAL life. Her face awash with broken hearted tears, the girl gave up. Gave up trying to find balance between her dreams and her responsibi...
4 comments
Read more