We sat at dinner, the sun shining through the trees in my backyard.  He leaned over, held up two fingers, and said, “In baseball, there’s two ways to strike out: 1. Swing and miss; or 2. Never swing at all.”

My friend wasn’t talking about sports, he was talking about life.

(To be clear, no one talks to me about sports because when I run it looks like I’m dragging a frozen turkey on my ankle, while pumping jazz hands at my sides.  Coincidentally, as a kid, I was always last picked for kickball.)

If life was a game of baseball, I’d be known for swinging my bat.  A lot.

And missing.  (I think they call it “whiffing”.)

My jersey wouldn’t have my last name on the back, it’d simply read: MS. WHIFFER.

I’ve whiffed more than I’ve hit.

And while I wish it wasn’t the case, I wouldn’t change anything.  Missing has taught me more than hitting a grand slam ever could.

(If you’re wondering when I’ll drop this baseball analogy, oh baby I’M JUST GETTING STARTED so take a bite of your Dodger dog because we ain’t stretching until the 7th inning!)

I once heard a story about a kid who had the chance to hit a pitch in Yankee stadium, a life-long dream of his.  Standing in a line of kids, he was told that everyone had a chance to hit.

He watched as the kids in front of him swung, missed, and walked out of the batter’s box.

When his time arrived, he stepped to the plate and ball whizzed right past him.  He shook his head, and waited for the next pitch.

Sailed right past him again.

The kids in line started complaining about how long he was taking, but he simply shook his head.

He yelled to the pitcher, “I’m going to stand here until I get a hit, so send something good my way!”

All these years later, I can’t forget that story.  What audacity.  To stand, wait, and trust you’ll get a hit when the time is right.

As a child, I wanted his audacity.  As an adult, I claim it.

I’ve chosen to stand in life’s batter box and wait until I get my hit.  It’s not easy, but if I strike out, I’ll be happier having taken a swing and missing, than never moving my bat at all.

I hope the same for you.

Life gives you more than three strikes,

j*

P.S. As summer ends, we’re spending as much time by the pool as possible…what’s your favorite end of summer tradition? I’d love to hear from you.