This morning when the clock struck 6 a.m., I didn’t feel inclined to go run some miles with Mr. Possibility, so I grumbled, rolled over and let him rise to the call of exercise. An hour later when he returned, I hadn’t made breakfast as I promised because my body simply refused to get up, so when he swung open the door to find me in the same position he left me, he gently tossed something at me.
It struck my stomach, instantly waking me up and I groggily asked, “What’s this?” while wondering why he would throw anything at me when I was sleeping so sweetly. He flipped on the switch and I threw the covers over my head, desperately wanting time to go backwards, back to when it was 2 a.m. and I still had five hours of rest left before the day demanded to begin. Coming to terms that Monday was here, regardless if I liked it or not, I opened my eyes to the bright light to find Mr. Possibility shaking his head at me.
“You don’t know what that is?” He asked, dumbfounded. “No,” I replied while thinking “And do I really need to know the importance of some blue ball you threw at me while I was still asleep, you jerk?” “Geez, Tigar! It’s a handball. Haven’t you played?” He asked, grinning in disbelief as he changed out of sweaty gym clothes. “Handball?” I asked, not amused with this conversation or the fact it was light outside. “Handball, it’s a city sport. I used to be pretty good at it. You’ve never played?”
I refrained from reminding him I’m from North Carolina where to my knowledge, handball doesn’t exist and honestly, as sad as it is, cow tipping is more common. Instead, I told him I hadn’t played before, but I would love to try it with him sometime and then collapsed back into the bed while he showered and couldn’t look at me disapprovingly for sleeping longer than I should.
A few hours later, after bagels with peanut butter, orange juice, and Monday-morning mass email cleanup, I caught the train from Brooklyn to my Upper West Side apartment to begin a busy day of freelancing and deadlines. Because he gave it to me and I was slightly amused by how high it bounced, I took the ball with me, hidden beneath receipts I needed to throw away and makeup in my Longchamp. While conjuring up some ideas for a new bridal blog I’ll be writing, I distracted myself with playing toss-and-catch with my new friend, the ball.
Yes, folks, I was that bored.
Watching it rise and fall in and out of my hand, I thought about how many balls I have in the air right now. Not just this literal handball that I probably will never use for it’s real purpose, but opportunities and possibilities, decisions to make and chances to take. I’ve recently opened myself up to looking at my life and my future in a different way. I’ve let myself out of a tightly-sealed box to reveal those ideas I’ve had that I’ve been afraid of exploring. Those adventures I didn’t want to take because I was fearful I’d lose my way on the straight-and-narrow if I took a detour.
But detours, while they’re uncertain and a little bumpy, are often what gets you to a place you’d rather be, even if you don’t know it. And you can’t get what you want if you don’t let yourself really, truly figure out what that is, or allow it to change as time, and you, change.
I’ve been nervous about taking a leap of faith into discovering what really does make me happy and what really matters most to me at this point – but when you’re forced to make a decision or try something new, somehow, that fear goes away. That hesitation subsides and you’re opened up to something more exciting – the idea of not having a plan. The feeling of having so many opportunities brewing, so many options to pick from- a sky full of possibility and hope, that you forget why you wanted to stay safe and protected in something secure in the first place.
Because you can’t shoot if you don’t dribble, you can’t aim if you don’t throw. And if you have no balls in the air, you can never catch one as you watch others fall to the ground because they weren’t meant to land.