It is the start of cricket season and my son has got the yips.
“The yips” is actually a golf term, when your wrist involuntarily spasms while attempting a putting shot, but it can be applied to any sport. Or the whole of life. It just means you suddenly stop being able to do a thing that has, thus far, been fine. Usually you just get over the yips after a while and carry on as normal. But while you are having the yips, it’s pretty miserable.
Last night, Sam was out for 2 and then bowled three overs without taking a wicket. His other games haven’t gone that well either. Yet last year, he was a terror, knocking off wickets left right and centre and smashing sixes and scaring the pants off everyone.
He came back last night visibly drooping. “Now I know what cricketers feel like when they’re having a bad season,” he said to his plate of dinner, head bowed.
“Oh dear,” I said. “I’ll run you a bath. Tomorrow is another day.”
And as I went upstairs to the bathroom I marvelled at how many times I have consoled myself, let alone Sam, over some sort of failure or knock back or disappointment or disaster or humiliation by saying, “Tomorrow is another day”.
Sometimes life can indeed feel mad, like you are repeating the same behaviour, hoping for different results. But that’s not quite what we do, is it? As we go about our lives, we do the same sort of things but in slightly different ways each time, hoping to get those results.
When I think about the various travails of life, that cursed human state of trying and failing, I am often reminded of a thing I once read about leopards. When leopards are confined to an area by an electric fence, they test the fence every single day, sometimes multiple times a day, to see if it is still electrified. Sure, they get a little shock each time, but it’s worth it for that one time there has been a power failure, the fence isn’t electrified and they bash through it in order to go on a murderous rampage through a herd of goats.
Sometimes I feel a bit like those leopards. I go through my days, testing my boundary limits, even though I know I might get an electric shock from it. Because, I say to Sam, the alternative to being a leopard is to be a goat. And we all know what happens to them.
I will remember this leopard story. Thank you.
I've just gone from a nice cushty job where I could work from home and knew it inside out so basically could skive off and pottle round the house without speaking to another soul all day for the past four years to an office-based 9-5 in a busy department where the average age is 20+ years younger than me. A week in and I am loving it but am having to be the leopard big time when it comes to systems, tech, templates, forms etc. I've very quickly realised that coasting at home institutionalised me to such an extent that I now have massive social anxiety, imposter syndrome and paranoia that I am going to break everything. I am convinced that I am fucking up all the time and that everyone thinks I am a twat when actually nothing could be further from the truth - I know what I am doing, they are glad that I am there and are pleased with what I'm going to bring. I've also realised that people are friendly, nice, kind, want to chat and are good to be around. And that young people are amazing, my kids really are going to be OK in five years time. It's taken sleepless nights and lots of self-talk to get me through the door even here but I can see a change in the way I carry myself after 4 days.