Tag Archives: trepidation

Billiards

Billiards:(n) a game usually for two people, played on a billiard table

Dictionary B

I grew up in a small village that was close enough to a nearby larger town to make all of the young folks feel out-of-step and inadequate.

We had to go to the bigger city to be entertained or to absorb any available culture that might accidentally trip through mid-state.

So when we drove our cars in the direction of the nearby metropolis, we felt a combination of empowerment mingled with humiliation. We certainly were convinced that everyone in the larger burg was aware that we came from smaller digs and therefore lacked the social graces to be able to hold our own with the natives.

But we went anyway. It was the nearest bowling alley.

Bowling was very important. It gave you a safe, cheap way to go on a date, where conversation could be channeled into laughter over the lack of ability to roll a ball down an alley.

Now, in the back of this bowling alley was a small pool hall. It was a new addition, and some of the young folk from our town were a little bit afraid of going to play this game of billiards because it was associated with lower-class or “hoodlum elements.”

So I had great trepidation the first time I went into the billiard section of the bowling alley, picked up a stick and tried to hit the cue ball.

Yet I quickly became addicted.

Matter of fact, almost every weekend I went to play billiards, which we called pool, with my friends, until we thought we had become so good that we believed we could actually compete with other “stickers.” (That’s what we called them, even though I’m sure no one else did.)

One night five guys from the big town came in, saw us playing, and challenged us to a tournament, the winner to take ten dollars.

We were gambling. We felt so grown-up. And ten dollars was all any of us would have for the next two weeks.

But we were confident. After all, we had already played two months worth of Saturday nights.

We lost.

Miserably, horribly and ferociously, as balls banged into each other, going in all directions, causing our heads to spin, eventually exposing our choke factor.

We left.

We were ten dollars poorer and more certain than ever before that “small-town Johnnies” need to be careful when playing with big-town bullies.

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Belch

Belch: (v) to emit gas noisily from the stomach through the mouth.Dictionary B

“Confession is good for the soul.”

This is a sentiment obviously spoken by a monk who lives on some desert island. Actually, confession is always painful because you may personally feel release, but you have also allowed others to draw conclusions which they may bring up to you later.

So I will say, with some trepidation, that I never learned how to belch at will.

When I was growing up, there were some very impressive young studs in our gym class who could perform mass burping to the amusement of the entire gathered horde.

I could never figure it out.

People explained it to me–something about swallowing air and then releasing it…

Well anyway, because I cannot perform this art of mass belching, I will occasionally get indigestion and be miserable, contorting my body into all sorts of positions to try to simply expel some gas. I have no problem with the back door distribution. It’s the front door that gives me fits.

So unlike others, who find belching to be extremely distasteful, generally speaking … it just causes this pilgrim to be green with envy.

 

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Amphibious

dictionary with letter A

Amphibious: (adj.) relating to, living in or suited to both land and water.

Time is one of the three ingredients necessary to change my mind. (By the way, for your reading enjoyment, the other two would be pain and pleasure.)

I need this trio to become the Holy Trinity, to build a bridge between my feet in the sand and firmly situated on the rock.

This was true with me as a boy on the issue of swimming. Matter of fact, they called me “a little frog.”

A frog is an amphibian, right?

The problem with this name they gave to me was that I really wasn’t little. I guess “big frog” would be inappropriate.

So as a very small child, I swam and swam without fear or intimidation. But then, as I grew into my teen years and became self-conscious about my body image, I was frightened to put on swim trunks and join the other kids at the pool, often sitting on a blanket in my street clothes watching them swim.

In the process of developing this trepidation about being ridiculed for my blubber, I also gradually convinced myself that I hated swimming and despised the water. Matter of fact, if I walked next to a swimming pool and inhaled the chlorine-filled air, I grew short of breath and needed to leave to regain my composure.

I was a frog who forgot how to leap in.

I was amphibious, but completely unable to pursue my inclination.

Then one day I got sick and tired of being afraid. I waited until nobody was looking, ripped off my street clothes and leaped into the pool, hiding my conspicuous overage under the waves.

It was a brave step.

I was a frog again.

I was back in my natural habitat.

I was overjoyed.

Of course, I wasn’t completely cured. On that particular day, I had to stay in the water for about four hours until everybody else left, so that I could emerge in privacy. But over the years I have gradually become more accustomed to who I am–and a bit oblivious to an occasional peering.

Yes. What the hell.

I guess if you’re gonna be a frog–amphibious, living in the water and on the land … a little bit of “what the hell” has to be ingrained in your philosophy.

 

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Abundance

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abundance: (n.) 1. a very large quantity of something. 2. the state of having a copious quantity: vines and figs grew in abundance

Is abundance too much? Or is abundance just enough to satisfy our human need for greed? Or perhaps it an adequacy which we have finally determined is acceptable for our well-being.

I once met a man in a park who was homeless. I don’t particularly like the term “homeless” because I think it connotes irresponsibility, but for lack of a better phrasing, we’ll just say the man had no permanent address for mail delivery.

After a five-minute conversation, in which we talked about everything in the world, including a bit of politics and religion, I asked him if there was anything I could do to help him. He smiled at me and said, “No. I have an abundance.”

I glanced at his shopping cart, which contained all the possessions he had in the world. Noting my countenance of disbelief, he laughed. He said, “You see, the problem with owning things is that’s there’s always something bigger and better of the same thing you have, which chides you until you chase it down. I have abundance because I’ve decided not to yearn anymore.”

I walked away that day interested in his words, but certainly not convinced. After all, I’m an American. I measure my success by gain, not pain. I determine my stature by opening up my computer and looking at a bank account to confirm that I’m not only solvent, but may be able to pick up lunch at Red Lobster tomorrow. I’m not even especially enamored by the words of a poet in a park, who tries to make possessions seem meaningless.

But I do have one variation on the typical American theme of prosperity. I think the greatest joy in abundance is knowing that there is a certain box of goodness and blessing that you can tuck away and save for an opportunity to give to others without trepidation.

Yes, the power of having abundance is to free your mind of the anxiety of need in order to step in and assist others, adding to your own abundance with a warm heart and the tingly sensation that some goodness has been achieved.

A great man once said, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”

I think that’s true. If we would look on our abundance as a means of expressing ourselves instead of proving ourselves, then the amount we have would not taunt our souls with selfishness, but instead, would provide an opportunity to be magnanimous.