My nephew qualified for the next round of a home run hitting contest and my husband and I went to cheer him on. He’s a good ball player but he is not ever going to be the next Hank Aaron. He knows it, his parents know it, his biggest fans, his aunt and uncle, know it and going into this competition expectations were low all around. My husband and I talked about this while sitting in the stands, away from the rest of the crowd.
“Do you think he’s nervous?,” I asked. “No, I don’t think so,”, my husband replied. “He’s so used to playing in front of people and is comfortable on the field and at the plate,”, I confirmed. “He knows he’s not going to win so the pressure’s off. I guess that’s a good thing,”, my husband added.
“Or is it?,” I challenged. “You never know, anything could happen. Every time we watch The Amazing Race, teams think they’ll be eliminated because they’re so far behind, only to find out it’s a non-elimination leg or another team has lost their clue and can’t check in at the mat and the behind team remains in the race.”
Yes, I am referencing a reality competition show in a philosophical discussion. You’re lucky I’m not quoting housewives. It doesn’t change the question: If we think we don’t have a chance, do we not try, or does it give us permission to be loose and not anxious and, therefore, be able to perform at our highest level? Or, on the other hand, does expecting to lose become the only possible reason we cannot win?
Perspective is everything, said the legally blind woman. In the case of my 12-year-old nephew, I think he knew what he was up against and it was a black and white issue for him. At his age, boys can be under 5’ tall or over 5’ 7”, with a weight difference of over 50 lbs. As adults, we see the same obvious disparity but we also know that so many other factors can play into success and failure. And yet, even we felt less than confident about his chances.
We, however, were not the ones at the plate. And no matter how big or loud your cheering section is, when you come up to bat it’s all you. You can believe in yourself despite the odds. You can know what you’re facing and decide to relax into it and take your stance on a cloudy, drizzly, less humid summer morning. The third option is a combo: show up and approach the unlikelihood of your coming in first wearing nothing but your spikes and your defeat / don’t even show up at the ball field because you figure what’s the point?
I don’t know what was in my nephew’s head as he waited on deck and then stepped into the batter’s box to take his ten swings. Whether it was option one or two I will never know. But it wasn’t option three and I can only hope that that’s the one he never chooses, as life reveals its blurred lines and gray areas to him. After all, option three does not get you French toast with your aunt and uncle after the trophies are handed out. And my nephew, well, he loves French toast.
