What we can learn from leopards
how to deal with the yips
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.
My son eats barely anything. He says he doesn’t trust food. I get it and have decided to go with it and not stress too much.
Last month he said he remembered having a tuna sandwich or maybe a wrap that he had enjoyed. Since then he and I have tried together to re-create the sandwich or wrap, that he will enjoy. I think we are on our 11th attempt. Not too much mayo, plenty of mayo, black pepper, brown wrap, white sliced bread etc etc GOD we have tried.
That kid has tried each and everyone, and every bit of his face has wanted to enjoy it, but then it’s not right. Last night I had a brain wave and said was it at X’s party that you had it? yes he said!
Just messaged the mum and now ordering a Morrisons party platter of kids sandwiches. This could be the time my leopard finally gets out 😃
I do know this is ridiculous but I only have one child and that’s my excuse for everything.
This piece made so much more sense once I realised I had misread the title and it was not about what we can learn from leotards.