I Will Be OK

While certainly not linear, the connection of awareness dots is steadfastly approaching 25,000 consecutive days. Where dots are days. The dot com site of birth to today. This dot on the timeline. Beethoven’s dot dot dot dash. And gone in a flash. 

Among the many reasons why we do this (pay attention and jot notes) is to capture the nuance. I want to make sure that I get it right. Did I? Do I?

It used to be comparatively easy, when the entire scope of our responsibilities was limited to sitting, listening and learning with a few intervals of running, laughing and hitting a ball with a stick in between. Now, further along the dot-line, we face challenge the likes of which we never imagined - even when allowed those rare occasions to ponder the unknowns of stillness, silence, eternity and infinity. I can, with high-definition, full-spectrum, surround-sound, recall wondering what it would be like driving Dad’s ’56 Ford to the beach. The fact that we were supposed to be studying times tables was of secondary concern. My life, that dot, was a mash-up of the joy, success and self-confidence I took from being good at baseball and the fear, doubt and humiliation I scored from math. Truly the only equation relevant to me was in the computing of my batting average. At bats divided by hits equals social standing. 

A few years ago, another dot, I was dating a gal whose work was Psychology. With the specific area of expertise being past live regression hypnotherapy. As you might assume it didn’t take long for our relationship  to segue into this fascinating, to each of us in different ways, field of applied science and human behavior. She had me at ‘you are getting drowsy.’ 

We conducted several regressions with one being more dramatic that the others. She had me go back in time, the me that I was on the day of that dot, and visit with the poor, scared, anxious and confused kid (the dot was me in college), sit in the locker room and have a heart-to-heart chat. To try to exchange the wisdom that would soon follow, my total accumulation of data, in order to comfort, instruct and encourage the young man by consciousness time-traveling back with the good news. A cybernetic retro connection of dots. 

I can say without hesitation that it was one of the most important conversations in my life. The paradox of it being a conversation with me as a nineteen year of collegiate baseball star with a stadium full of insecurities and the (semi) mature adult twenty-five years later, added dynamically to the importance and value of our dialogue. The gist of that exchange was centered around the old dot me connecting time-line dots with the young dot me. On one fact. I said to me:

It will be OK.