I've been thinking a lot about ballsy moves- or being "ballsy" in life. Sorry to be so vulgar, but I really like the term ballsy. In my mind, to be ballsy means you are face-to-face with something outside your comfort zone. Remember now, the comfort zone is defined by the one sitting right smack in the middle of it (the owner of the 'zee balls', if you will) and nobody else. So to each their own, here- no judgment, people. Some comfort zones extend from here to Mongolia, and others are about an arm's reach away. Either way, to be ballsy means you've reached a point of questioning about something that makes you consider, re-consider, and even feel a little bit tingly with an equal measure of 'ick' and 'intrigue'. And then, of course, you go after it. Feeling ballsy doesn't mean your endeavor was successful or notable by anyone other than you, it just means you did something that initially made you *pause* to some degree, and that doing it was a bit of a stretch.I've been thinking about ballsy moves because lately, I've been equally awed by my own and others ballsy-ness. Since I've been here, I've been ballsy enough to be plenty busy, plenty exhausted, plenty (and quite literally) lost, plenty successful, plenty let-down by failure, and plenty inspired.
Just writing about this makes me overwhelmed with appreciation for the inspiring ballsy moves of the people I know. Whether or not they felt both the ick and the intrigue to make it ballsy in their books, I'll never know, but I sure feel it when I think about what they've done.
Deb is ballsy every August when she takes her vacation and travels solo, dropping in on old friends and balls-illy exploring the world. Michelle and Doug are about to get hitched, which is balls-tastic in my book. All the parents I know pretty much define ballsy, and that's just for parenting- each of them is ballsy in their own way as teachers, musicians, athletes, authors, artists, etc.
Some people really have no choice but to be ballsy. I like to think about Anna and Lenny and what they had to do to help their little girl beat cancer. That shit was ballsy! Most of us will never know what it is like to have to be that ballsy without choice or hesitation. And to top it off, deciding to not be jaded by the potential shittyness of chance, and optimistic enough to have a third child, may have kicked their ballsy-ness into another universe. And now that Max is here, I can't imagine what life would be like if they hadn't told their fear to take a powder.
So that's some of the stuff you people have done that I consider ballsy, meaning, it is outside my comfort zone. If anyone reading this wants to know exactly what they've done that I consider pretty damn ballsy, I'd be honored to let you in on my little crush.
What matters as much as anything is that there are things that only you consider ballsy... that's what really counts. The other night I flew solo at the Modest Mouse show in Boston. I felt particularly ballsy for doing this, which kind of surprised me. I love camping alone, going to movies alone, even going out to dinner alone (things I don't really consider ballsy), but I was icked and intrigued by the idea of a concert alone. I ended up having a blast staying 'till the bitter end, drinking shitty beer out of a can, and madly dancing my ass off while texting Emily (another ballsy girl) lyrics and stage shots.
I woke up early last Sunday morning and made the ballsy move of meeting up with a group of runners (aka Gil's Athletic Club- "GAC") in Topsfield for their weekly Sunday "long run". I knew nothing about them except: they love to "run and drink beer", and that the image on the website of their fearless leader "Coach" Gil was of a big man with a black mustache and a cigar in his mouth. The whole idea had me sleepless the night before. Needless to say, after a 2 hour trail run that included a mid-way, fully clothed and shod swim in a hidden quarry, I was absolutely giddy-thrilled that I had met these people. In explaining to Mike how scared I had been leading up to it, the only answer I could muster to explain my "ick" was: "I run alone". This transformed the simple act of meeting new people into one that required cojones, for me anyway. Ick and intrigue were staring me down, and I had to put considerable effort and coaching into facing them. BALL-SY!
I've got some ballsy moves coming down the pipe too. Mike and I are thinking about buying a place together, and this is starting to feel a little financially ballsy. (Yikes! There it is: ick and intrigue). But it's funny- when you are partners in crime with someone you trust, who has more integrity than anyone you've ever known, you're left with the excitement of intrigue that is cleverly wrapped in a safety net of trust, and the terrifying aspect of a ballsy move starts to lose it's intimidating glare. The ick part quietly slumps away...
Also, after meeting Gil and his club last week, I've decided to train for their annual 50-mile trail run in November. Now to some, this may seem just plain stupid, not ballsy. But to me, asking "will I finish?" instead of "when will I finish" puts me into the sweet fuzzy gray area between ick and intrigue. The idea of running 50 miles without music, and of trying to convince a couple of people to hang at the aid station or pace me for the last 12.5 mile lap is BALL-SY. What overrides my fear is: a) I believe this new group of seasoned ultra-loony-runners can get me ready for it (if anyone can), b) the image of running alone for the first hour through the dark woods with a headlamp on, silently, feels absolutely magical, and c) eating PB&Js all day long sounds just plain fantastic.
To everyone I know who has inspired me with their own ballsy-ness, thank you for teaching me to reach down and kindly pet the fuzzy gray area between 'ick' and 'intrigue', instead of running away from it screaming .
On that note, here is what I think all we ballsy cats should do: If your recent ballsy moves involved a partner in crime, find them and slap 'em some serious skin, and then seal the deal with a beaming grin and a moment of deep appreciation for gettin' ballsy with you. If your recent ballsy moves involved you and you alone, reach up & over your shoulder and give yourself a pat on the back, throw down a little "robot" or (if you truly are ballsy) the "worm", and smile at your balls-tastic nature. Oh yes, you are a ballsy one, you are!
Wanna know my ultimate ballsy move? (Ack! There they are: Ick and Intrigue. What's up, guys?)
Gulp... it's blogging. Now, you have to tell me yours...
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