Did you ever read an excellent blog post, but fail to immediately recognize the discussed topic's significance in relation to your own life?
That happened to me last week.
I've been reading the works of inspiring blogger Expat for more than a year now.
On Wednesday, he posted a story about life through a baseball memory.
In sum, it is about how he struggled as baseball player, but was able to hit the winning home run during a for-fun game--at a time when many changes were going on in his life including a move.
A short time later, the pitcher during the game who was also a good friend, died with his wife in a traffic collision.
Expat said that he has not played baseball since that glorious game with friends.
But he treasures how good it felt to "connect" on that sunny day.
So, I read Expat's post, thought "that was really good," and went on with life.
Later, while walking the dog in the dark and thinking, it hit me.
Unlike Expat, my last baseball try was a strike out.
One. Two. Three.
I took a big swing at the third pitch, but was not close to hitting it.
I was out.
The memory of that failure is vivid.
I can still see the opposing team's red uniform, and the pitcher's jet black hair.
I remember the heat of a late afternoon sun causing sweat to run down the side of head.
I recall the unforgiving wind blowing dirt across the diamond and into the faces of the contestants--the breeze being synonymous with the plains states.
I remember jogging back to the dugout, dejected with bat-in-hand, knowing that the season and my time as a "baseball player" were over.
Why had I not played baseball since that afternoon?
Watching our dog sniff each rock and pole for clues as to what other canines had walked by earlier in the day, I thought about the question.
And developed this answer:
Perhaps, my last at-bat, is symbolic for me as well.
I want to hold onto that lousy memory, and make sure that I don't end any other parts of my life with a swing and a miss.
I never want to finish with a dejected retreat back to the dugout.
I don't want to be a failure as a father, husband, employee, or a son.
Maybe, the image of me striking-out on that day so many years ago acts as motivation.
I just hope that it is not fear.
On second thought, moving forward due to some fear is not so bad.
Thank you to Expat and all of the other inspirational bloggers who daily challenge me to think and grow.
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