Saturday, November 28, 2009

the basketball

sometimes, if your lucky, something comes along, grabs you by the scruff and says, "wake up! wake up! there's more!"

there's much, much more.

"the artist's way" came along this fall, thanks to a dear friend here in korea, and is awakening me to the vast realm of so much more.

writing three stream-of-consciousness pages upon waking every morning and taking oneself out on weekly, solo artist dates are the core of the practice. those of us who are participating in the program also meet once a week to share our experiences and support one another. it's been 9 weeks now. how to even put into words what is unfolding, i can not yet. the seedlings are still germinating underground, fragile and still in need of darkness. however, i will tell you about the basketball.

at one of our last "artist's way" gatherings, we were going around the circle reading our wish lists. 20 things we wish we had. some answers were:

more courage

a million dollars

a house

a perfect lover

blue hair

a basketball was tops on my list. i have had the most insane cravings to go down to the courts and shoot around lately. the desire grabs hold of me in my legs, my arms, my hips, and it's all i can think about. as soon as i said, "i wish i had a basketball," one of the gals in the group said, "i have a basketball you can have!" "really!?," i exclaimed. "i could just borrow it, you don't have to give it to me," i said in my well trained, midwestern way. "no way, i want you to have it, it's yours!" wow. and that's the kind of goodness that's been happening again and again these last 9 weeks. the author of "the artist's way" calls it synchronicity. i think we're all at the point where if we didn't believe in it before, we certainly do now.

so, this afternoon, being an unusually warm winter's day, i decided to take myself on an outdoor artist's date! i hopped on my bike and rode down to the track/basketball courts on campus with my new b-ball in my backpack. the courts were full of students playing, so i ran a couple of miles in the meantime. it felt invigorating to be out in the fresh, winter air, surrounded by mountains, flying around that track again as if i had wings on my heels.

when a court cleared out, i claimed it, just me and my new ball! i have to say i felt a twinge of self consciousness at first, being the only gal out there, surrounded by 75+ guys shooting around and trying not to make their staring obvious. however, i stood my own ground and began shooting lay ups. right side of the basket, then left side, right, left, back and forth. after a few minutes the slight bashfulness shifted into an old familiar trance of single-minded focus. a feeling deeply recognized from the past. hours upon hours, year after year, shooting hoops by myself or bumping/setting/spiking/serving the volleyball against the side of the house after finishing homework until nightfall. it was like pulling teeth to get me to come in for dinner. i could have spent night after night out there in the dark, in a blissful trance-like, meditative state induced by the repetition of embodied activity and concentration. looking back on childhood, those were some of my most contented, peaceful moments.

as i shot around today, many vivid images came back to me of playing in childhood...and then later in high school and college. i loved the games so much when i was young that it didn't matter if i played perfectly or not. i just loved the playing. as i grew older and perfectionism really took hold, i found myself wanting more than anything to be the best, to execute each move, each play, flawlessly. that desire led to eventual demise. sucking the love of the game right out of me. what i am learning now, i wish i could have known then. how deadly perfectionism is. how it effected not only my experience of sports, but so many other things. how it is the master block of creativity. how it keeps us from exploring possibilities. how it shuts us down and blinds us to our potential. the grand kicker is that perfectionism has the capacity to actually make us believe we can't do something, before we've even tried!

these last 9 weeks have been an excavation. spelunking remote caves of childhood consciousness. unearthing what i used to love before perfectionism rolled on the scene...and sensing those feelings of excitement and passion bubbling up again inside. suddenly craving basketball, not to be the best or even to compete, but simply for the love of shooting around, the way i remember it from was when i was little.

i realized while shooting lay ups today that long ago i gave up practicing shooting the ball with my left hand. it must have been back in jr. high that i came to the conclusion that i wasn't as skilled with my left hand, therefore, if i couldn't dribble or shoot well (perfectly) with that hand immediately, i wouldn't even try. from that point on i solely focused on my right hand, blocking out the left side completely. i was shocked at this remembrance. how someone so young, only 11 years old, could give up so quickly for fear of failure, not knowing that with a little practice her left hand skills would surely develop. i felt tenderness for that little person who was/is me, who was so deathly afraid of what might happen if she didn't do it perfectly.

so this afternoon, at age 32, on a basketball court in korea, i began learning how to shoot with my left hand. i did it for the little girl in me that gave up on that over 20 years ago and is still kicking herself. it was humbling, all those air balls, with 75 jock guys watching, but boy oh boy i felt an aliveness inside that was powerful beyond any old, critical voices shouting "stop! before you make a total fool of yourself." today, both a little girl smile and a 32 year old, grown woman, "you're safe with me" smile met those voices and a softness in the belly that kindly said, "you've come a long way, baby...just do it!"

right then and there, life became new.

1 comment:

Ellen said...

jessa this post is beautiful/wonderful. i love your writing and i love hearing about your experience. you've done a wonderful job of writing something that is both a sharing of something personal and an opening of something that is universal. thanks.