Dartboard

Dartboard: (n) the target used in the game of darts.

Ann Arbor, Michigan

After I shared at a coffeehouse and sang my songs, some of the nice folks who attended invited me out to a restaurant called “Lums.”

Now, if you don’t know anything about “Lums,” I’m not going to try to articulate a great deal. Just think about delicious sandwiches and soups, with the addition of local delicacies like bratwurst and a very tiny deep-fried fish called smelt. (That is the extent of my tour journey through the essence of “Lums.”)

But what I remember is that this particular gathering of souls loved to play darts. The restaurant had a small bar with a dart board hanging on the wall.

I had never played darts in my life.

I had never regretted not playing darts.

But I wanted to be hospitable—especially since they were treating me to a “Super Weiner Dog.”

So they handed me a dart and said, “Go ahead. Take a shot.”

I was so indifferent to the prospect and so certain I would fail horribly that I just took it in my hand and threw it quickly.

It stuck right in the center.

I was shocked.

The friends who brought me to the restaurant thought I was some sort of dartboard hustler—so they pushed, encouraged and dared me to finish the game—against their best dartboard champion.

It was horrible.

You see, the reason I did well with that first dart—why I was so lucky—is that I didn’t think about it at all.

I just tossed it off.

For you see, when you play darts, standing there with one in your hand, if you start aiming for the center, the shakiness caused by your nerves and the lack of knowing how hard or soft to throw it, makes the dart go nowhere you envisioned.

Honest to God—after that first throw that landed in the center, I not only didn’t score points, but I never hit the board again.

After about ten attempts, my friends realized that I was hanging in mid-air of humiliation, so they cut off the punishment and we went back to enjoy our dinner.

As we sat down, one of the young girls who was there for the feasting said, “Here’s the problem. Darts don’t involve your brain. If you think about it, you’ll screw up. You just have to toss it and hope for the best.”

I overthought her statement.

Maybe it was the remnant of the failure still taunting my soul, but I will tell you—she’s right.

After you’ve tried something, practiced it, studied it and learned it…

Just go ahead and toss the goddamn dart.

Copper

Copper: (n) a metallic element having a characteristic reddish-brown color: used in large quantities as an electrical conductor

Truth tiptoes gingerly on a tightrope between science and mysticism.

The absence of mysticism makes us think we’re stuck dealing only with elements of the Earth without us possessing a connection to the rest of the Universe.

The absence of science turns us into superstitious, impractical idealists who put too much focus on things which are not of the Earth.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I was talking to a man who was completely convinced that copper was a magical element which, when infused into clothing, healed the joints, bones and tendons. I wanted to listen to him with an open mind, but the claims he made were so outlandish—especially when he insisted that even cancer could be eliminated by copper-infused wearables.

You see, that’s what mysticism does. It tries to turn copper—which is a very valuable conductor of electricity and important element—into something it is not—a heal-all.

Yet science, for fear of wading into mysticism, can miss a little piece of Earth’s wonder because the idea was first touted by charlatans.

Do I believe that copper has the ability to heal my achy joints?

Do I think that some herb found in the rain forest of Brazil will make me pee better?

I don’t know.

But I am not so pessimistic as to ignore the fact that a very special type of bread mold was discovered to have healing properties, which led to the creation of penicillin, which has saved tens of thousands of lives.

So would I wear an arm band infused with copper to help my joints or drink a cup of herbal tea to calm my nerves?

I might if the arm band was stylish and the tea was tasty,

 


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Cinch

Cinch: (n) an extremely easy task

What are the factors?

I’m talking about the issues that go into making something work or drizzle away in failure.

I wish I could say it was all based upon the value of a good idea or merely the implementation of it.

Not so.

I can think of five things right off the bat that have to be crawled over to get to the finish line.

First, if you want something to be a cinch, it has to work out on paper. If it doesn’t, then you’re hoping for grace (if you’re spiritual) or a mutation (if you’re scientific.)

A bad start.

The second thing is resource. In other words, simply knowing what to get doesn’t get it. Can you locate what you need and once located, can you acquire it?

Third, luck. Many people do not believe in it, but there is a chaotic aspect to nature that cannot be denied. After all, the same thing we try today often doesn’t work tomorrow for no explicable reason.

How about nerves? Oh, yes–the football team was ready for the game, and then became unnerved. What causes it? When do we look at the challenge and visualize the victory, and when are our eyes affixed nervously on the adversary?

Of course, there is the fifth and final hurdle. It’s called performance.

Everyone reading this has had an occasion in their lives when everything was perfect except for one thing–and that single unit blew everything apart.

The reason most people spend their lives in lamentation is that they are burdened with the need–shall we say, expectation?–for something to be a cinch.

This writer will tell you, the only thing he has found to be a cinch–a guarantee–is that there will always be a surprise waiting for those who dare to brag about being prepared.

 

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