don't even have time for more business right now, especially design work. I'm struggling so much with Hannah's wedding dress, I'm losing confidence in myself. I always felt good when I designed, like I was doing exactly what I knew how to do. I thought of myself as creative, inventive, imaginative, but for some reason, I've gotten completely blocked. The wedding is a week from Saturday. I'm running out of time."
"What does Hannah think? Is she getting nervous?"
"No, because she thinks the dress is fine the way it is, but I know it's not. And she should have the perfect dress. She's my best friend. If I can't make a gown that is spectacular for her, then maybe I'm not that good."
He thought about her disparaging words. He was a little surprised by her pessimistic statement. She'd seemed very optimistic until now.
"What's really going on?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe the dress isn't what's bothering you. Perhaps you need to dig deeper."
"I don't know what you're getting at."
He thought about how best to express what he was thinking. "I was drafted out of community college. I'd been there two years, setting all kind of records, and I thought I was a superstar."
"It sounds like you were."
"Well, when I got to my first team in LA, they took one look at me and sent me down to the minors almost immediately. They said they wanted me to get experience. It was the right decision, but it wasn't what I wanted. I thought I was ready to be on the main stage, not playing games in a one-stoplight town in the middle of nowhere."
"So, what happened?"
"It turned out to be good for me. I got to pitch a lot and face different kinds of hitters, but it still felt like punishment. After a year, there was talk of bringing me up. I was very excited. But the more talk there was, the worse I started to pitch. It was like the closer I got to my dream, the more problems I encountered. My cockiness vanished. I was overthinking every move I made. I thought I had a hitch in my fastball. The sinker wasn't hitting its mark. I was annoyed with the mound, the dirt, my catcher, my infielders, even the weather. Oh, and the damn birds that would fly over during the late afternoon games, they really pissed me off."
She smiled. "How did you get out of it?"
"I got help from an unexpected person. The scorekeeper for our home games came up to me in the parking lot one night. He must have been close to eighty, but he'd been a player in his day, a pitcher, in fact. He told me to stop thinking about the next pitch, the next game, the next stage in my career. Just to focus on the ball and the batter in front of me. One hitter at a time. Put everything else out of my head. Don't look at the crowd. Don't look at the coach. Don't think about who's watching. I thought it was stupid advice. I barely let him finish before I took off. But the next game, I realized my mind kept sliding into the future. I was thinking about the next batter, the number four hitter, worrying about how I was going to get him out before he was even up. I was also scanning the crowd. I was watching for the scouts. I was measuring my success by the wrong things."
He took a breath, then continued. "When I finally just looked at the ball and the batter and pushed everything else out of my mind, the plate came into perfect focus. I pitched the ball, and the batter swung and missed. From that first strike, it just kept getting better. Concentration had always been the key to my success, but I'd gotten too far ahead of myself. I was so afraid of losing out on what I didn't have that I almost missed being able to get it—if that makes sense."
"It makes a lot of sense."
"Even though I didn't think I was afraid, I was."
"And you think I'm afraid."
He met her gaze. "It doesn't matter what I believe, only what you do."
She thought about his words. "I think I'm good, but I don't know how good. Am I talented enough to make it all the way? Or am I being overconfident? Living here in Whisper Lake, the world is very small. When I was in New York, I saw