I love to tell stories.
I love to repeat the same old stories.
In many ways, I’m like that annoying Uncle or Grandpa that tells the same tired old story, over and over, and everyone around them has to shut up and listen out of respect for their elders.
I’m the same way when I tell certain stories about my past. People around me roll their eyes… here we go again.
So, just for fun, here is one of those old ass stories of mine.
Yesterday, in my post, we went back to junior high. Today I go back even further. To elementary school. Good old Longfellow, 5th or 6th grade, PE class.
I have always been a girly girl. I’ve always liked skirts and dress shoes. And this was like 1988!
So my favorite outfit was a pink satin ruffled skirt over shiny biker shorts. Pink stonewash jean jacket that was my pride and joy. And WHITE fake snakeskin dress flats with a gold metal toe tip, and a little black bow. I loved those shoes.
THIS was my outfit during PE class.
We would all line up on the yard for kickball. Two team captains were chosen. Then they would start choosing their teams.
I was always last or second to last. Usually me and the disabled kid.
Then my team captain would send me to the way WAY outfield. I would sit down cross-legged, so far away I couldn’t hear what was going on in the game.
Many times I would pull out a book and read. I am not kidding… I would be reading a book in the outfield!
Someone would kick the ball really good and far and a classmate would be running towards me and the ball, I would look up, all dazed and confused, and they would say “Don’t go for it Remy!!”
That is my story about sports in school.
My athletic potential died there on the kickball field.
I never played a team sport or tried to hit a ball or threw a ball of any kind after that. The only PE class I ever enjoyed was in high school when I took Dance.
When I tell this story it is with a perverse sort of pride. “Look! I am telling you this is who I AM. So please don’t expect anything athletic from me.”
To this day when someone tries to toss me something to catch I get mad. “I TOLD you, I can’t catch, don’t throw things to me unless you want me to drop them.”
All these years I have been telling anyone who will listen, and myself, that I am not athletic.
Do you have a BS story about yourself that you have been telling your whole life?
Now it is time to start writing a new story.
One of my choosing. A story where I choose not to give in to my lesser self.
Cause lesser remy, she wants to take the easy road and she never takes risks. She is burrowed safely in her comfort zone.
Instead, I am choosing to rewrite the future, stop telling myself the same bullshit stories.
It’s time to learn how to catch a fucking ball.