Or, Getting Whacked for Fun and Profit

[This is my entry for this month's What I Learned From... groupwrite project, where the topic is "metaphors for life". What's it all about, you ask? Well, just click on that link for the details.]

Anybody remember playing dodge-ball in school? I wonder; did anybody ever actually enjoy it? Or were you more like me – just tryin’ to, you know, survive? Yep; thought so.

You may remember that I played an instrument in the band nearly every one my Junior High and High School years. (Then again, you may not. After all, there’s no particular reason why you should have all the nitpicking details of my life memorized.)

I said nearly every year, because in a moment of insanity, one year in Junior High School (I think it was 8^th grade) I decided to take gym instead of band (it was an “either-or” thing).

A Sense of Impending Doom

Never having taken a physical phitness class at school before, I had no idea what to expect. Did they teach the fine art of jumping jacks? Would I finally be able to do a pushup (or wonder of wonders, a chin-up) by the time the school year was finished? Or maybe I would finally learn how to conquer that universally useless skill: the rope climb? I couldn’t help but feel a bit of trepidation.

Sure enough, on the first day of gym class, I experienced a sense of impending doom as I was greeted by a list with only three options on it: a) play baseball, b) play “touch” football, or c) run track. Ugh; what in the world had I gotten myself into, anyway? I mean, first of all, I was simply no good at either baseball OR football, and track always sounded like so much, you know, work. I wondered if there was any way to renounce my decision and get back in the band (image of me, pounding on the doors, crying “let me in! let me in!”)

OK; I’m going to be completely honest here and admit the by-now obvious truth: One reason I chose to join the Band was to avoid those humiliating “aww, look who’s left; you take him – no, you take him” incidents. (But don’t worry; as you can tell, I’m over it now.)

See, as a kid, I was physically somewhat, er, unremarkable *sigh*. (As opposed to the *cough* cough* amazing physical specimen I am now. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m a legend in my own time mind.) Alas; back then I could have easily been the model of the “before” image for those comic book body-building ads. Not to mention having a distressing lack of coordination; I never could run while dribbling (er, a basketball, that is), and I didn’t learn to walk and chew gum at the same time until my second year in college.

Anyhoo, having made the superhuman decision to stick with gym class after all, and with such fulfilling options to choose from, I really found myself looking forward to – rainy days. Why? Because when it rained, instead of romping around in muddy fields (something that might actually have been fun), we stayed in the gymnasium and played (sound of terrified scream) dodge ball.

Not that I was any good at that either, mind you. No, it’s just that any opportunity to enjoy air conditioning in Houston is never to be taken lightly. Hey, I figured if I was going to get whacked anyway, I might as well be, you know, comfortable.

Surprisingly though, as the year progressed I began to get quite good at the art of dodging. Hey, waddaya know? Who knew being skinny as a rail could actually be useful? (Insert moment of reverent silence here for my long-gone slim waistline.)

Now, if I could only get better at the throwing part. (Unfortunately, the best I could manage was to throw like a girl. Or more accurately, like a girl’s 3-year old kid sister.)

Nevertheless, I actually began to enjoy the game a little. Until, um, this one time (flash of lightning, crash of thunder, dramatic organ riff). It was a dark and stormy night… Well, not really. But it does satisfactorily convey a sense of impending disaster, don’t you think?

Making an Impression

Anyway, there I was, artfully dodging artillery fire right and left. Mostly it was a case of turning an almost 2-dimensional body sideways at all times while keeping my finely-tuned peripheral vision fully deployed.

Now, the way we played the game, if you were hit, you were out of the game. However, if you caught an offensively-thrown ball (was there any other kind?) without dropping it, the thrower was out. So far I’d been doing pretty good, managing to avoid attention and keep out of the line of fire simply by keeping a low profile and not attacking the other side.

But then, well, the guy next to me got thumped, and the ball sortof leaped into my hands. I remember thinking, OK, let’s go for it. Unfortunately, the act of grabbing the ball meant I’d turned my back for a moment and taken my eyes off the playing area.

In that split second (and you could see this one coming, couldn’t you?) – and just as I turned back to face the attackers – yep; sure enough, I got whanged full-on, right smack in the middle of the face! (And this was no namby-pamby soft rubber ball, my friends; back then we used volleyballs.)

Looking at the scene in retrospect, I must say, it was the proverbial perfect shot. I’m tellin’ ya, it was so impressive, there was a sortof reverent pause and collective ooh! from the entire rest of the class as I was literally knocked right off my feet.

So what was it like? Well, let’s try this.

Stand, if you will, in front of a mirror with (and this is important) your eyes wide open. Hold your hands out to your sides, with fingers spread open. Now, slap yourself on both sides of your face with all your might. While you’re doing that, imagine instead of your hands, it’s a smooth leather ball shaping itself perfectly to your face, embracing you in its *ahem* tender, loving touch – then rebounding away with a loud, resonant bonnnngg!

Ayup; it was a lot like that. Fun, huh?

Having been, er, well and truly tagged, I staggered to the sidelines. The coach, in a surprisingly sympathetic act, discretely pulled me aside and let me know it was OK if I wanted to go ahead and hit the locker room.

Well, involuntary tears were streaming down my face, and it was stinging like I’d landed face-first in a bed of nettles – and it was probably flaming-red to boot – but I stayed. I even played again before hitting the locker room with the rest of the guys when *ahem* “play-time” was over.

Oh, it’s not that I was feeling particularly manly or anything; I mean, it wasn’t like those scenes with Rocky running up the steps or taking out his frustrations on a poor defenseless side of beef to the sound of triumphant, stirring music. (I can never remember; was that Rocky I, Rocky II, or Rocky VIIXXMC?). No, it was my way of sayin’ to the other guys: Hey, I can take it.

How to Profit From Getting Whacked Life

Looking back on that incident, staying in the game was a remarkably brave thing for me to do – and, up till then, so unlike me. But hey, I like to think maybe I learned something from it at the time. I know I’ve learned a few things since, such as…

Life comes at you fast. Yup, no doubt about it; life has a way of flyin’ at you from all sides at once, doesn’t it? And what’s our usual response? We spend a whole lot of our time dodging this way and that, just trying not to get hit.

So what’s wrong with that, you ask? Well, nothing, really. But lemme ask ya this: would you rather spend your limited amount of time, energy and resources avoiding the inevitable? Or would you like to learn how to cope – or even better – profit from these experiences? Yeah, I thought so.

See, sooner or later, you’re probably gonna get whacked with a lemon. Or something. It’s far better to have spent your time being flexible and innovative enough to make lemonade out of it, don’t you think? Hey, I’m just sayin’.

Ah, the agony! Probably one of the earliest things we learn from the classroom of life is, it sometimes hurts – a lot! Yep; there’s no avoiding the fact that pain is a normal part of growth. Whether it’s a lost childhood, a friendship that goes south, a business that’s doing worse – or heck, sometimes it’s doing better – than you bargained for, or even a whack in the face; well, it’s pretty easy to get yourself hurt in this ol’ world.

So what’s a body to do? Do you run back to the locker room, change your clothes, and get the heck outta Dodge? Or do you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep on going – hopefully a tad wiser? I submit that your answer to this question will go a long way toward shaping your character. And maybe even help you define your future. As always, the choice is yours to make. Choose wisely.

Pain begets growth. You know, one unexpected outcome was I became a lot more aggressive at playing dodge ball. Oh, it’s not like I turned into the Terminator or anything. I just figured, what the hey, I couldn’t get thumped any worse!

That attitude brought with it a certain freedom, too – freedom to act without fear (or at least, less fear). Besides, the game was a lot more, I don’t know, real after that. Every time I dodged a ball it became a small victory.

Interesting thing about small victories, though – they can give us the confidence we need to lead to bigger ones. Trust me on this, friends; now that’s worth suffering a bit for.

Develop a broad vision. As my skill progressed, I actually got pretty good at seeing from the back of my head (perhaps a rudimentary form of “spidey-sense”)? And when you get right down to it, that’s not a bad talent to have.

How many times have you heard something like, “You gotta keep the big picture in mind”? OK; probably millions. But it’s still undeniably good advice – for business and for life.

After all, about the only way to see the big picture is to step away. Stepping away implies separation from the immediate. That separation enables you to think with fewer distractions. Fewer distractions hopefully means better thinking. Finally, better thinking leads to better decisions; something we can all profit from, don’t you think?

Ultimately though, you’re going to have to get back into the trenches. But at least you’ll have a better appreciation of how everything is working together.

It’s Your Turn Now

So here’s our billion-dollar question for today:

What’s your favorite metaphor for life – and even more importantly, what did you learn from it?

Hey, if you’ve got an answer to that question (and who doesn’t?), well Bubba, you are cordially invited to share it with the rest of us during this month’s What I Learned From… groupwrite project. Just follow that cute little link to the kickoff post and read all about it.