a couple weeks ago I went for a ride up the canyon. it was a pretty day, a little on the chilly side, and quite a few cyclists were out. at the mouth of the canyon, heading up, I saw my first cyclist coming down.
then I saw another one, and another.
the pattern continued: cyclists coming down the canyon kept their heads focused on the road in front of them, and my waves went completely unanswered, and possibly unheeded. sniff, sniff, pout.
batting zero, I thought.
that uncomfortable place where you keep on trying, putting your best foot/smile/effort forward, and you keep on getting nowhere.
I'd started at zero, and eleven people later, was still there.
and then came magic number 12: a wave! a smile! a something in return for my effort.
from that point on, I stopped keeping track. some passing cyclists waved, and many more didn't, but it had ceased to matter. I had moved from zero to one, and I no longer felt stuck in a bottomless pit of nothingness. I lived a long time on the happiness of just simply batting one.
today I'm working to remember the importance of batting one.
so far june has hit me with a few fastballs ~ or perhaps they are simply curve balls ~ and the sense of hanging out at zero was tightening its little mitts around me earlier.
I began the day by tackling my internet problem: that only one of my two networked computers was able to access the internet. by mid-afternoon and post hours on the phone and online chatting, I was down to zero computers able to go online.
but, after only another 45 minutes on the phone, I was back up to one. and I came away from that call believing I have an understanding of and possible solution to my problem.
so as I sit to type this, I am once again batting one.
which is a hell of a lot better than batting zero.
and although durango will have to wait at least one more day, I am grateful to be a positive on today's scoreboard.