Watching a friend’s daughter and various teams competing in their final season volleyball tournament, I was impressed. It wasn’t so much the scoreboard. The missed shots were loved as much as the spot on. When everything was off, something happened that reset the shift. It was a frantic dive run, until she decided.
One girl settled the pace and took control. Then the flow began with soft passion. Eyes glittered between the net. Despite the long day, there was something to this love for sport. The mothers cheered from bleachers near and I just watched for the technique. A certain leap, the slap and bump of the wrist. It all connected and when it sang the trees fluttered.
When it feels like swirling and you cannot find the ground, grasp for truth. The only one that matters to you. History is his-story or shall we coin it Herstory. We each have this magical tail unfolding that balances our heals to dig in for a bumpy right. Throw those hands up and shout ‘whoooowww’ this is what I am talking about – this is the grand adventure. Take it or leave it, but it is up to you.