I may have mentioned my “minor-league” exposure to American football: high school home games… step-dad watched so much that—by osmosis—I could name every team… Grandma loved it…
Suffice it to say, I know as much football as I do Spanish: just enough to get me in deeper than I can swim. ¿Habla usted el fútbol?
If memory serves, the game starts in the middle and works its way outward. (‘Sounds like most of my conversations, hehe.) The idea is to meet the goal; to get away from the half-way point. Share a team strategy to get through the wall, and somebody makes a run for it—knowing he’s probably going to get pummeled along the way.
I picture the earliest versions: Wiry Whippersnapper Wishing for the last piece of pie, Bobbing About around Billy-Bob the Hulk.
Life is sometimes like that: we have a long line of goals, but they seem many yards away—and with intervening (moving) obstacles. I don’t know about you, but sometimes it’s a challenge just to stay in the game. Right now, I have several specific goals (of varying degrees of importance). As distant as some accomplishments seem, I don’t want to throw in the towel: sitting on the 50‑yard line will get me nowhere.
An important strategy I tend to bypass is the obvious benefit of tackling just one blocker. Being spread too thin(ly) can get you annihilated. I can’t carry the ball for everyone. I guess I need a team.
Secondly, I need to plan which goal I want to hit the hardest. Having recently gone back to work, you can guess a key goal is learning to exceed at my job—and pay some bills while I’m at it. But I’d prefer not to do this purely at the expense of other plans: writing, for instance. There are also places to go and people to see. My favorite is that last part.
And third, I’m going to need some padding and a helmet. (I’m praying already.) Some of my astonishing endeavors have the potential of running into some heavy-hitters.
So I’m working on a few plays.