I don’t know when I realized I would never be a professional ball player.
In fact, a small part of me will still lie to my self and say “if I worked my tail off, I could still have a year in the minors”
Now; I understand that last statement is pure garbage. I do not have the raw talent, training, skills, or discipline necessary to be a professional athlete. I get that.
But, in my white male privileged stance on the world, I still try and convince myself that I could walk on and be a place kick holder for a professional football team.
I can think these things and understand realistic dreams v. unrealistic dreams, as I am 30 and of reasonably sound mind. But, when do we learn/accept our own limitations. I even struggle with the word “limitations” as that is not really what I am talking about.
This mental struggle started tonight when my 4 year old announced she wants to be a ballerina. I will do everything I can to encourage my kids and their dreams, but I also want to make sure I am not setting up a kid who can barely walk between two rooms without tripping and bumping into a wall into a potential false belief that a highly competitive career where balance and grace are paramount will be her life’s calling.
I think my landing spot comes into how we encourage those around us to pursue their passions. I may never pay my student loans off by having a successful baseball podcast, but that doesn’t mean that I wont try.