Swing for the fences
even if you're gonna miss. | 100 DoW #23
Hey friends, Happy New Year!
I hope you all had (or are still having) a good holiday with lots of energy, good food, fun, family, friends, and games.
Today a short sports story from my time in primary school.
Enjoy!
In primary school, we had a game very similar to baseball and softball—which we played in high school. We called it—literally translated—“hitball.”
There were two major differences between baseball and hitball. First, there was no pitcher, meaning you had to throw the ball into the air yourself to hit it. The second big difference was that you could choose to use either a thin baseball bat or a wide flat plankje.
Most used the plank and hit the ball out of their hand, similarly to how you’d start a ping-pong game, underhanded. This technique meant you’d have close to a 100% hit rate. But the ball wouldn’t go very far that way, meaning you’d probably get to the first base, but wouldn't be sure if you’d get to the next base before an opponent got to the ball. It was the “safe” option, though.
I never used the plank, much to the chagrin of my teammates.
I solely used the bat and did so in the following way: I threw the ball up into the air above me, then grabbed the bat with two hands and brought it to my shoulder, baseball-style, and then, when the ball started coming down, I swung as hard as I could.
Most of the time, I spun around with a loud “swoosh!” and hit nothing.
My teammates obviously didn’t like that, so most of the responses were akin to, “Jibran, nooo, use the plank! Agh, see, you can’t hit anything like that!”
Side note: I think I was able take so much crap from my classmates because my urge to do my own thing was just too high. I am grateful for the imagination and curiosity that led me to do my own thing. But it also meant that being this deviant caused me to not fit in. Both as a kid and, even later in life, as a grown-up. Even if I did have successes, like hitting a home-run, they weren’t celebrated by a group for long.
But once every four or five times I swung, there was a loud “snap!” when I would hit the ball.
I’d hit the ball with so much power, way more power than you could get with the clumsy plank, that the ball went so far that everyone stuck at the different bases could essentially “walk free” to the finish, me jogging with a big grin after them.1
These were the moments I lived for during sports games. Or any game, really. (As well as the game of life.)
I could write a whole ‘nother section here on the value of high-risk, high-reward pay-offs of “swinging for the fences.” How “going for the home run” might be a sound idea in all kinds of situations, like starting a business, making travel decisions, investing, etc. You know, the stuff many business bloggers endlessly write home about.
And there’s truth to that; in my life, I’ve definitely noticed an amazing asymmetrical upside to going all-in, putting all I have into that one shot or one opportunity.
Still, the most compelling reason to go all in for me, is that I’m just too goddam curious not to. It’s just too much fun when things do play out precisely the way I imagine. Especially when the stakes are high, and the chances for success are low.
Thanks for reading!
Sincerely,
Jibran
It could very well be that my team lost more due to my decisions (although, at the time, I wouldn’t say that). But at least the games were memorable, win or lose.