Take Your Eyes Off The Ball
Unless you’re certain it really is your ball to hit.
“Knee on the ground,” coach Curt yells at me from across the field. I watch his ground ball bounce towards me in centerfield, which used to be just a field before the American Armed Forces converted it into housing for their soldiers stationed in Mainz, Germany. The bunnies don’t know the difference between a softball field and just any field, so they keep digging here, making the coach’s “knee-on-the-ground” order essential. Outfielders want to bring as much of their body in front of the ball as possible, decreasing the likelihood of it running away from them on an awkward bounce from 100% to 80. At least if said outfielder wants to play on the team, which I most definitely want, which is why I am still here after practice is officially over.
It’s a hot summer in the late 90s. I am in my late 20s and defending my spot in the lineup against some teenagers, who — fortunately for me — have better things to do on a Wednesday night than collecting grass stains on their practice uniforms and being yelled at while breathing in coffee-flavored fumes from the Nestlé plant at the bottom of the hill. I love fielding practice and would catch fly balls all evening to improve my standing with coach Curt, but he has decided to switch to one more round of batting practice now. I hate batting practice. Not because I can’t hit the ball — but because I can. Only during practice, though. As soon as an umpire calls, “Play Ball!” I can’t keep my eye on the thing when I come to bat. No matter how loudly coach Curt yells at me from the dugout to do so.
He isn’t always yelling, coach Curt. He tries to teach me kindly, occasionally, standing next to me at the plate:
“See it leave the pitcher’s hand.” I see it.
“See it come towards you.” I see it.
“See it hit your bat.” Sometimes I almost see that.
“See it leave your bat.” Never.
If my eyes aren’t shut at that point, they will be at first base already or somewhere else around the field.
“You do it when you field the ball,” coach Curt sighs in exasperation. “You watch it come into your glove. Why can’t you keep your eye on the ball until it leaves your bat?”
I never figured that part out before I actually had better things to do on Wednesday nights, too, and my batting average became as inconsequential as my ability to memorize lines in a play or chords of a song.
…
“Find your Drishti,” Adriene speaks softly into the microphone that I have seen on her body, even though I have been practicing “Yoga With Adriene” in my home office since long before everybody in the world jumped on board during the pandemic. Today’s practice is called ‘Gaze,’ and she makes it about more than a focus point to pick so I won’t fall over during tree pose.
“Take your soft gaze with you,” she invites me and the millions who will watch this video in the coming weeks. “Move your gaze slowly from one thing to the next as you move through transitions in your practice.”
Dog hair (so MUCH dog hair) — the edge of my mat — knots in the hardwood floor — the foot of my desk — white cable — black cable — edge of my desk — window frame — tree branches outside — window frame — the unclean paint seam between the Sweet Naiveté Pink on the wall and the Swiss Coffee White on the ceiling.
As I notice this unfamiliar flow of familiar shapes and colors, I remember coach Curt and catch a rewarding thought: “Take that! See how I can keep my eyes on shit now?”
Once my attention is back on the mat, in my body, I can feel what Adriene’s words are really about. Not simply THAT we notice, but WHAT we notice:
“Where our focus goes, energy flows.”
That’s precisely why a batter needs to keep their eyes on the ball.
And why we all need to pay attention to our thinking.
We can hit brilliant line-drive-thoughts each day if we don’t let the algorithms inside our devices pinch-hit for us. If we don’t allow other people to be the umpires and scorekeepers who judge our performance. If we surround ourselves with cheerleaders instead of focusing on the grumpy old geezers booing from the bleachers. (Yes, I know there are no cheerleaders in softball or baseball. Save your energy.)
Self-Coaching Exercise
Here is an exercise* for you. It starts by you intentionally defining what your ball even is. So much of my coaching clients’ suffering is rooted in them going to bat for somebody else. Keeping their eye on what capitalist patriarchy has socialized them to focus on. Promotions, marriages, cars, houses, slim bodies, wrinkle-free light skin…
From there, you will shift your focus from what you’ve been told to look at to what you yearn for, especially in unexpected places, from where a fortuitous solution might pop out at you.
1. State your yearning. Name it, and be aware that it is most likely a feeling, not a thing. Is it wholeness? Belonging? Peace? Joy? Hold it in your heart without pushing it away. Don’t let anyone tell you this is not the ball you want. You KNOW.
2. As you move through your days, ask yourself, “Where is the thing I yearn for trying to reach me?” “Where is joy/belonging/love… trying to reach me?” Look for it wherever you are: at the grocery store, the office, in traffic, on the mat. Keep your focus on what you are yearning for.
3. Watch for the solution to “pop out” at you — this may take time and lots of batting practice.
*The exercise is inspired by ‘The Pop Out Solution,’ as taught by Martha Beck in 2020 as part of her ‘Practical Wayfinding’ course. I am a certified Martha Beck Wayfinder Life Coach, and if you are curious about working with me 1:1, email me or check out my website at coaching.mrslaine.com
