Life, The Curve Ball, and The Color Red.
I have never played baseball or softball, but my father did. Before I was born, he played professional baseball. Don’t believe me, look him up. There are two professional baseball players listed in the encyclopedia of baseball with the last name of Camilli. One of them is my father.
Anyway….when I was growing up, my father never talked about baseball much. It was just something that happened in the past. Something he did once. One time when he was talking about it, he mentioned the curve ball. I remember listening to him even though I had no bloody idea what he was talking about. A curve ball? What in the hell was he talking about?
But I looked up to my dad. He was and still is my first super hero.
So as he told the story, he talked about how curve balls were really hard to hit. Knuckle balls were hard to hit as well, but that curve ball was elusive. According to him, they were one of the biggest challenges for him when he was up to bat.
I sat patiently and listened because it was rare that my father ever spoke about baseball and I was sure that even though I had no idea what he was talking about, he was likely to share some cryptic wisdom in his story.
I’m remembering that story today because my life has just thrown me a proverbial ‘curve ball’. I swung at the bastard three fucking times and now I’m out. I’m back in the dugout waiting for my next chance to bat.
And all I see is red.
Pure red. Anger. Anger at myself. Anger that I didn’t hit it out of the park. Anger that I didn’t even bunt. Anger that I failed. I tried and I failed….again.
So here’s the low-down. I’m going to be moving sometime in the next few months. I wasn’t planning on moving, but I welcome the chance to go home and fix up my house that I own in NM. I will miss Boston and New England though I wish things had worked out differently since I moved here so I have to move on, grieve and say good-bye.
I keep alternating between happiness and sadness about leaving Boston and returning to NM. Part of me is disappointed while another part is elated.
Life is like this sometimes. You get up to bat, you swing, you miss and life goes on.
When we miss that curve ball, we can become a paradox of swirling emotions.
So what can we do about it?
Do we wallow in self-pity or anger that we didn’t hit that damn curve ball?
Do we hide our emotions and shrug them off like nothing?
Do we feel ashamed that we struck out at bat and sulk in the corner?
Do we look at these curve balls as hidden opportunities to learn something new and grow as a person?
As I sit here writing this, I know that the only answer I have for myself is that when the time comes around again and I am up to bat, I will hit that curve ball or do my damnest to hit it.
I will swing again and again.
Even when I see red.
And am angry
and completely heart broken.
What are you going to do about your curve balls?