I abruptly halted my stroll through the shopping mall to gaze in wonder at a very large, very pregnant woman bouncing repeatedly on a bungee swing.
Quickly summoning my seventh grade math skills, I calculated that the repeating force and velocity upon her body could momentarily launch an unanticipated sequence of events. At each vertical bounce, I expected the abrupt squeal of a tiny baby’s voice, propelled into birth with the aid of gravity and a giant rubber slingshot. No forceps necessary for this delivery, thank you.
The bounding continued, but I didn’t want to stick around for the spectacular gravitational outcome. Instead, having empathetically sensed my own need for additional anti-gravitational support, I made my move to the men’s underwear department at Macy’s.
One thing was for sure. She owned this athletic event. In the category of Very Pregnant Women Bouncing on a Slingshot, there were no other competitors in the mall. Or, probably, in the entire city.
Recently, a friend asked me if I would consider speaking at a small seminar. He listed several topic options to consider, and he asked me which of the topics I felt that I “owned”.
Huh. I’ve never felt I am a particular expert at anything. That’s the trouble with being a utility player. Send ‘em to left field, or catch, or play third base for half an inning. It doesn’t matter much. They’ve got just enough skill to last for a few minutes. The “real” player will be back as soon as he gets that thumb taped.
To really own something requires an obsessive compulsive streak. That’s laudable. It might not even matter so much what is owned; such a person is driven to own something. The Guinness Book of World Records is full of the bragging rights of those who own a record, no matter how obscure or inane the event.
Owning no particular event makes a person feel downright…well…average.
However, come to think of it, being successfully “average” requires its own skill set—persistence, compassion, integrity, harmony.
Being obsessively compulsive might get your picture on a Wheaties box.
But being the best “average” might just get you through life better.
Okay. Got it.
I don’t know anything about slingshot bungee baby deliveries.
But do I know anything about being average? Oh, yeah! I own that gig!