Living in the Limelight

I developed, in my youth, a theory about how one could most successfully fit into the world: keep your head low and try to not draw attention to yourself. I'll spare this blog entry the life experiences that I'd had, to that point, to develop such a concept at such an age. Suffice it to say that, for a chunk of my childhood, I shunned attention.

I have no better illustrative story than a football game played one day at summer camp. In universal child-touch-football fashion, our team would huddle together and the adult would trace some football play on his chest with his finger. My job? Generally to run around in circles -- think Calvin and Hobbes and you've got the idea.

At some point during this football game -- a game which I was enjoying not participating in -- the adult came up with the devlish idea that I was not getting enough "ball time". So, unbeknownst to me, he whispered to the quarterback something akin to: "Ed is always open. Throw the ball to him."

So, the ball was snapped, people were running, and I was using my knowledge of the current play to put me as far from the action as possible, enjoying my position as sports-voyuer-in-the-midst when suddenly, inexplicably, the dork with the ball threw it at me.

Clearly, something had gone wrong. I must have run into the middle of the "action". The football, spiraling like a javelin, would hit my body long before it reached the intended target whom, I surmised, was somewhere behind me wondering why the chubby red-headed kid was in the way. So, I did what any self-respecting team-player would do:

I threw my arms up in the air and did a limbo-esque back-lunge to ensure that no part of my body touched the pursuing pigskin. To this day I'm not sure if the ball or my behind hit the ground first. I do know that the rest of the players, friend and foe, were unsure what to stare at more... the ball rolling to a rest or.. well.. me rolling to a rest. The adult's reaction? This generous man who wanted to ensure that I got enough "ball time" looked at me with disgust and muttered "we won't be trying that again."

Brushing dirt off of my shorts, I came back to the huddle indignant. To every question of "what were you doing" I shot back "what were you thinking?" There is a distinct hierarchy at the age and I had not yet climbed high enough to be on the "ball receiving" tier.

I was thinking of this campy.. (er, camping...) story as I drove home from work today wondering... what happened? I have come to not only be on the "critical path" for a few projects at work but to actively seek out such paths and insert myself into them. I'm juggling no less than five discrete efforts at work and, as is sometimes the case, management is taken to negotiating for my time.

And I work with my fair share of "ball-avoiding-limbo-dancers", some younger, some older than I. As such, I am at a complete loss as to what mechinations transformed that pudgy red-headed kid into this pudgy red-headed adult. And, unfortunately, I have been too busy to find out.

-Ed

ps. A few ol' friends have e-mailed me recently, and I have been a complete dork and not responded. I've gotten the e-mails, they have brightened my day, and you all know who you are. I'll write when I can write something of substance.a