Know Me
Last night I couldn’t sleep. Em and I stayed up to watch the Duke Blue Devils defeat the North Carolina Tarheels! I have to admit that I live vicariously through J.J. Redick. I love that guy – really!
After watching the Blue Devils squeak out the win, I was unbearably restless. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I grabbed a National Geographic and headed into the living room. Once there, I couldn’t concentrate and found myself trying to validate my life. J.J. Redick is living my dream. I wanted to go to Duke and work miracles like J.J. Instead, I didn’t play a lick of organized ball after high school. To this day, I wonder, what if?
Movies like The Rookie bring tears to my eyes every time I watch them. In fact, I often sob. Something in me is unfinished.
So, last night, unable to sleep or read, I opened up the doorway to the past. In the back of our entertainment center are several tapes from my days playing high school ball. I grabbed one and watched with anticipation. Why with anticipation? I mean, I played in those games. I knew how they were going to end.
Even so, I found my way to a 1995 District Tournament game versus the Murtaugh Red Devils – our bitter rivals. We ended up winning the game and only needed to win one more game to secure an automatic bid to the State Tournament. Murtaugh ended up working their way through the loser’s bracket to play us again. We started well and with only 6 minutes left in the 4th quarter we led by 7 points. Then it all fell apart. In the closing minutes, I went to the line twice for one-on-one opportunities. I missed the front end twice. Being a high 80s, low 90s free throw shooter, I expected to watch myself make the free throws. It was agony watching those shots rim off into the hands of our rivals. Several missed jumpers later and we were done. We ended up losing to the Red Devils again and watched our State Champion hopes fade away. The year before, I broke my arm in the District Championship game, and the year before that we lost in double overtime in a game that would have secured a State Tournament birth. There would be no next time. My dream would remain unfulfilled.
As I sat staring at the television last night, I could again feel the pain of coming up short. In lieu of the recent Super Bowl, I’m sure that I have no idea how bad coming up short can really feel, but I know something of it.
And I want to do something about it. I want to play them again. I want another shot. I want to be somebody. I want to win. I want to be known as a winner. I want to know I am a winner. Am I watching too much Sports Center? I know we all make fun of Napoleon’s uncle Rico who is living in the 80s, but how many of us are living our lives in the shadows of unfulfilled expectations? Broken promises? Dreams deferred or out of reach? We may not talk about our days in high school, but when we are left alone with ourselves, when our deepest desires well up within us, how many of us feel the ache of not reaching our goals or achieving our dreams? How many of us fear that we have not lived as we could? How many of us wonder if it is too late?
I wonder.
It is easy enough to just push the desire away and take care of business – work, start a family, pursue relationships, etc. But will I ever be able to dull the ache? Will I always be haunted by what might have been? Is it enough to rationalize the past as part of a greater plan? Or, can I resolve this? Should I resolve this? Should I let it go? Can I let it go without killing a part of me? Can I be me without pursuing this part of me? What does pursuing my own heart look like? Can if find peace through something else? Someone else?
I still wonder.
After watching the Blue Devils squeak out the win, I was unbearably restless. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I grabbed a National Geographic and headed into the living room. Once there, I couldn’t concentrate and found myself trying to validate my life. J.J. Redick is living my dream. I wanted to go to Duke and work miracles like J.J. Instead, I didn’t play a lick of organized ball after high school. To this day, I wonder, what if?
Movies like The Rookie bring tears to my eyes every time I watch them. In fact, I often sob. Something in me is unfinished.
So, last night, unable to sleep or read, I opened up the doorway to the past. In the back of our entertainment center are several tapes from my days playing high school ball. I grabbed one and watched with anticipation. Why with anticipation? I mean, I played in those games. I knew how they were going to end.
Even so, I found my way to a 1995 District Tournament game versus the Murtaugh Red Devils – our bitter rivals. We ended up winning the game and only needed to win one more game to secure an automatic bid to the State Tournament. Murtaugh ended up working their way through the loser’s bracket to play us again. We started well and with only 6 minutes left in the 4th quarter we led by 7 points. Then it all fell apart. In the closing minutes, I went to the line twice for one-on-one opportunities. I missed the front end twice. Being a high 80s, low 90s free throw shooter, I expected to watch myself make the free throws. It was agony watching those shots rim off into the hands of our rivals. Several missed jumpers later and we were done. We ended up losing to the Red Devils again and watched our State Champion hopes fade away. The year before, I broke my arm in the District Championship game, and the year before that we lost in double overtime in a game that would have secured a State Tournament birth. There would be no next time. My dream would remain unfulfilled.
As I sat staring at the television last night, I could again feel the pain of coming up short. In lieu of the recent Super Bowl, I’m sure that I have no idea how bad coming up short can really feel, but I know something of it.
And I want to do something about it. I want to play them again. I want another shot. I want to be somebody. I want to win. I want to be known as a winner. I want to know I am a winner. Am I watching too much Sports Center? I know we all make fun of Napoleon’s uncle Rico who is living in the 80s, but how many of us are living our lives in the shadows of unfulfilled expectations? Broken promises? Dreams deferred or out of reach? We may not talk about our days in high school, but when we are left alone with ourselves, when our deepest desires well up within us, how many of us feel the ache of not reaching our goals or achieving our dreams? How many of us fear that we have not lived as we could? How many of us wonder if it is too late?
I wonder.
It is easy enough to just push the desire away and take care of business – work, start a family, pursue relationships, etc. But will I ever be able to dull the ache? Will I always be haunted by what might have been? Is it enough to rationalize the past as part of a greater plan? Or, can I resolve this? Should I resolve this? Should I let it go? Can I let it go without killing a part of me? Can I be me without pursuing this part of me? What does pursuing my own heart look like? Can if find peace through something else? Someone else?
I still wonder.
posted by Dave Jones at 5:13 PM
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