Friday, July 1, 2011

Pointing my Bat: West

Legend dictates that during Game 3 of the 1932 World Series, Babe Ruth pointed his bat towards Wrigley Field's center bleachers, and then promptly hit a home run to center field. The Great Bambino never confirmed whether or not he called the shot, but the metaphor remains compelling, particularly when one is contemplating one's own loaded grand gestures.

No championship series was at stake in December, but that month I decided to pull up my stakes in New York and head west. I pointed my bat at San Francisco, and touched down in my native city just before Christmas. Friends old and new rang in the New Year with me up at Yosemite--a very special place to me, and the best one in which to mark my move back to California--and since then, things have been an absolute blur.
A New Year and new beginnings in Yosemite
Seven months later, and my day to day life looks very much like the dream at which I pointed my bat last winter. I didn't know what to expect, much less what I would find, when I left New York--I had no detailed agenda or plan, and for the first time in my life, I literally had no idea what I might be doing in the foreseeable future. But I had a very strong sense of what I wanted, even if I couldn't see exactly what it might be. And I decided to trust myself.

I'll never be a major league baseball player (for a variety of obvious reasons), but even if I were, the odds of reaching the Babe's heights are close to zero. Still, I'll never forget the moment when I paused, stepped back, and took a very clear look at my life in NYC. Then I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and swung.

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