As I wrote yesterday's post, pondering the bouncing that I've been required to do, I found myself thinking about tennis balls. It, of course, doesn't hurt that over the past week, I have both watched and played a fair amount of tennis. But truthfully, who among us doesn't feel a bit like a tennis ball sometimes? I mean, what other ball is both fuzzy and fluorescent? We might feel new and bright and bouncy, or we might feel faded and old and flat, but either way, there's a racquet waiting to send us flying. And another across the way to pummel us--or deliver us--once again. Sometimes, the flight is exhilarating, sometimes, it is just another hit. And either way, we, a little tough, but a little fuzzy, stay in the game.
It is nice to be the bright, bouncy ball, ready for the hits, and
excited for the ride. But when our bounce is a little gone, and our
bright colors are a little worn, it's also nice to know that we still
have a place in the game. We are still worthy of the power of the
players. We are still worthy of the focus that makes the match exciting.
So, when it begins to feel as though we should be traded in for what is
brighter and bouncier, we can try to remember that there is almost certainly a
place for the not quite so bouncy. There is still value we can add,
even if we're feeling not so fuzzy, and not so ready for the hit. In
the hands of those who keep at it, we are still part of the excitement.
And isn't that what the game--be it tennis or life--is all about?