I was walking back from a late breakfast when I saw a father and son at the far end of the walkway practicing their penalty kicks between the trees. It’s the son’s turn to kick, and he steps backward like all the pros on TV.
Three seconds later the kid is on his ass and the ball hasn’t moved an inch. That’s what happens when you try to jump kick something that’s on the ground. Another ten seconds passed before he couldn’t hold the tears inside anymore.
Which hurts more? The pain of hitting your tailbone on the gravel, or the pain of feeling humiliated after missing a stationary ball? (and in front of your dad, too, when all you want is for him to feel proud of you)
~
I’m twenty now, but even I still feel like that kid. Miss the shot and disappoint yourself and your teammates, who wanted to see you succeed just as much as you did. Miss the metaphorical boat and imagine everyone going off in their separate, amazing directions — but without you.
What then?
Here’s something I tell myself: take the next shot. Take the next boat. It will not be the same as the one you missed, but if you keep your eyes open, you can still reach interesting places.
~
The father walked up and hugged his child. He didn’t say much else, and he didn’t need to.
I’ll see them doing the same next week anyway.