(picture: an oddly-telling sign that stares me in the face every time I go to the laundrymat)
There are times when a long period of hard-work bears fruit that tastes sweeter than any which had been gifted in the past.
And then there are times when all one thinks about is fruit while staring for an eternity at that same bag of seeds sitting on the kitchen table.
Back when I played baseball my Dad used to serve as what I someday aspire to embody as his son’s most enthusiastic and caring cheerleader. He knew how much I loved the game, but he also knew that as his son I was blessed with the same gift that he has always had of never being able to turn my brain off. Some would say that keeping one’s brain on while engaging in a thinking man’s sport like baseball would be foolish. However, the “turned-on brain” that sat between my left and right ears was one that had me running through every possible pitch that I could see every time I stepped up to the plate.
And I froze. Like a motherfucker.
I cannot begin to count the number of trips back to the dugout I spent continuing this overthinking disease as I would then imagine what would have happened had I reacted in a variety of different ways to the pitches that I saw seconds before.
My Dad had the greatest name for this problem that plagued me from about the age of 8 until 14:
PARALYSIS THROUGH ANALYSIS.
I was spending so much time thinking about what COULD happen that I wasn’t giving myself the freedom to experience what WOULD happen as a result of simply reacting and letting my body instinctively take over at that moment when what had to go down was about to go down, and my action would be informed by the deep well of knowledge that I had filled for myself that would inform my subconscious as to how to throw my hands and put bat to ball.
And now I sit here…13 years later…putting pen to paper (or rather “thumbs to touchscreen”) in a moment when–after a long period of having succumbed to that same paralysis through analysis with this here Starship Soundwaves–it finally hit me what has to be done. There’s no reason to wonder whether or not that music video I was feeling will be liked by our listeners if i post it up. There’s no reason not to record that Occupy Mix that my man Aaron mentioned and I agreed would be a good idea but I ended up shelving out of laziness. There’s no reason NOT to put up a post a day here on the Soundwaves site because Sean and Cecilia thought it’s be a great idea if I were actually able to commit to the task of putting my thoughts to paper (or rather “keyboard”). There’s no point NOT bringing my camera to that concert like I knew I should so that I could sit down with a good friend and musician and talk about the ending of his group’s tour, not knowing that two weeks later I would no longer have the chance to see the brother’s face ever again in the physical form and tell him how proud I was of him and his success (which was, by no accident whatsoever, the culmination of a daily mantra of “hardwork and dedication” for the man).
This revelation is as much about the passing of a good friend who was putting his dreams in motion by way of his own will, determination, and commitment to capitalizing on EVERY SINGLE opportunity he encountered as it is about my sitting here in my laundrymat down the street from my apartment wondering why I can’t take the time to do my laundry on a consistent basis 2 minutes from my place at the nice little corner laundrymat instead of waiting too long and having to lug a trunk’s worth of laundry to the huge laundrymat on the bad side of town where the machines are huge but the scene is a bit sketchy.
The picture says it all…it all DID come out in the wash today.
The worrying about what people will think.
The paralysis through analysis.
All of it.
Consider this me grabbing my 34″ Reflex from the bat rack, putting on my helmet, and stepping to the plate.
Time to send this next pitch into the leftfield bleachers….