I was on my bike today and I saw these two guys playing catch. That’s it, that’s all I saw. But, somehow it turned into this in my head:
Note: I am not this mean and I generally don’t say my nasty thoughts out loud
So there I am, biking down the street going fast. We’re talking really fast. Fast. And these two kids — when I say kids, I mean like, early twenties — are out there, throwing the football around. Little did they know that I, the man who was about to pass under and through their game going fast, could have been an NFL quarterback. That’s right. I’m just shy of six feet tall and I have an absolute rocket for an arm. I see the first kid throw. I’m surprised I’m able to see it with any clarity considering how fast I’m going. So, this kid throws the football and it has some wobble to it. It fucking wobbles. A duck, that’s what we call that in the world of elite quarterbacking. A duck is when the ball isn’t spinning but it’s more wobbling. The ball was fucking wobbling. And so of course the other kid doesn’t catch it. How could he? There was so much wobble on the dang thing he’d have to be worried about it hitting his hands and then going all willy nilly, wobbling all the way to the ground.
The other kid picked it up and threw it. You wouldn’t believe it. Wobble. So much wobble. Just two ducks playing football in the street. I’m amazed I was able to see his throw that well, what with all of the speed I had accrued up to this point. But I did and it wobbled.
I wanted to stop these kids. Teach them how to throw a football. I know, I know. Maybe they were just warming up. And that maybe they weren’t the types to throw such wobbly balls. But guys, you have to believe me when I tell you; I know football. A famous sports technicist once told me that I am able to produce the same spin rate on a football as Sandy Koufax, that is, if Sandy Koufax threw footballs. I’m sure he did, and I’m sure I do too. So, I wanted to teach these boys. They could learn a thing or two from a savvy former could-have-been pro.
As I got closer to the two — and I got closer quickly, remember, I was going fast — I noticed that one of them was wearing a Boston Red Sox shirt. Of course he was. I wanted to give these kids a lesson, but here this one guy was wearing a fucking Boston Red Sox shirt. No way.
So instead of stopping, I said something loudly as I passed by. It was something about Boston and it included swear words. Apparently this guy heard me, which is incredible considering how fast I was going, and he didn’t like what I had said. It wouldn’t be until later in the day that I would come to realize that I didn’t like what I had said either, but at the time I loved what I had said, and I expanded on it by mentioning his wobbly balls. Boy did that piss him off.
I was looking sideways when I yelled that, and I was still going so fast, and I hit a pothole. My tire blew up like an explosion you would see in the movies. It knocked the kids back a little bit. I went flying over the handlebars of my bike and into the windshield of a car that was coming and let me tell you it was coming fast.
A man looked over at me and I realized I was in the passenger seat. He asked if I was okay and I said I sure as hell wasn’t have you seen how wobbly those kids throw those balls? And Boston fans to boot! He said I was bleeding and that maybe I should call a doctor and I said that maybe those idiot kids should call the doctor to have their arms checked out.
This man, a fine man, dropped me off at my house and my girlfriend was there and asked honey what happened. What happened, I told her, is clearly that no one teaches a tight spiral anymore.
NOTES:
Those dudes really couldn’t throw a football. Which is fine. And I actually did have the urge to maybe give them some pointers, but instead I kept biking because I had perishables in my backpack.
Writing is interesting because as you’re doing it — at least, this is my experience — there’s some little demon in your head, kinda like that Pixar movie Inside Out, screaming at you that whatever it is that you are doing is worthless.
I cannot allow myself to think this is worthless. In fact, I need to think of it as worthwhile because I am doing this because I wrote a book (a whole ass book!) and I need to get an agent. I figure it’s kinda like love. You know, they say you can’t love someone else until you love yourself, so I guess my work can’t have any worth unless I find it worthwhile?
I can hear a teacher or a nagging type asking ‘who is “they” in “they say”’? We gotta put this one to rest, please. It’s the ubiquitous ‘they’. You’ve spoken to other humans before. I know you get this.
As for feeling worthless or worthwhile, apparently this is also closely linked to people with ADHD. People with ADHD tend to be perfectionists. Oftentimes, people with ADHD do not finish projects (raises hand). But, folks with ADHD are also inherently more sensitive to reactions, feedback, what people say, what they think about themselves, etc. All of that is to say that it is not uncommon for people with ADHD to struggle with self-worth. I am a person with ADHD, and I struggle with it mightily. In fact, I think I have a blurb about worthiness somewhere in the book I wrote:
“Would this be a worthwhile endeavor?” -blurb taken from Chapter 12 of CM Steven’s Steve’s Tour Journal.
Ah, what a question. More and more these days I’m doing my best to convince myself that the answer is yes.
As for this newsletter? I still have no idea what I’m doing with it. I feel like I should put newsy things in it because it’s called a newsletter. However, yesterday was Sunday, which meant another edition of DISPATCHES FROM VERMONT, and today is Monday, so without further ado:
Movie Mondays with Nate:
Webster defines film as “a motion picture, a movie.” The late Robert Ebert referred to film as “one of his favorite guilty pleasures.” Even grumpy old Joe Stalin himself couldn’t resist the allure of a good talkie. Friends, I submit to you an idea: The Conjuring 3: The Devil Made Me Do It was just okay.
-Nate