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.
I waved.
he didn't.
then I saw another one, and another.
I waved.
they didn't.
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.
batting zero.
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.
1 comment:
You were obviously a fisherwoman in a prior life! Cast and focus, and cast and mend, and cast and twitch, and cast further. Then wade and cast. Some days, the first fish comes to the fly quickly, and some days it doesn't. The number of fish is not that important, as long as it's one or more. Everyone counts to one. All fisherman have been "skunked". After a skunking, one wonders if one just should have stayed at home (even if it was a cool evening with the sun setting over a gurgling brook). But one, one fish, ahhh that is a successful day fishing. And so it must be for the biking maven looking for the first wave.
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