Yoda was wrong. There is “try”.

Growing up my parents put me in all kinds of sports activities.

I was signed up for basketball. Because I was the tallest person anyone knew at age 12 and maybe I also smiled once while holding a basketball. Should’ve known that smile would’ve gotten me enrolled in a basketball camp where I quickly learned that dribbling was harder than it looked.

I was signed up for tennis. Guessing they signed me up for this because I owned a skirt and visor. Voila! I remember vividly thinking I was actually decent but for the life of me couldn’t remember the scoring. No matter how hard I tried I always thought LOVE meant WINNING NOT LOSING. It makes no sense, people.

Then there was soccer. Dad was the coach. I ran across the field thinking “why am I here right now”. Granted, this is the only place where I actually could hold my own on footwork. Put me on a dance floor and I look like a chicken. Soccer field, graceful. Make it make sense.

Oh yeah, and the piano lessons. I know it isn’t a sport but it should be. I hated every minute. At the recital, where I was supposed to blow everyone away and leave them wondering where I had been hiding all my talent… I decided I would NOT be performing and hid in the lobby.

They eventually let me quit them all. But first, they made me try. Now all grown up, no one forces me to try but I look at situations every day that I don’t know how to solve. But, I have to try. I’m not Serena Williams, and I never became that concert pianist, but I tried.

Maybe we don’t have parents forcing us to try new things anymore, but I really hope that we never stop trying