One of the most rewarding things I got out of temp-ing this summer at a concession stand at the Indianapolis Tennis Championships is a stress ball they were giving out at a promotional stand.
It is a yellow, tennis-ball-shaped ball with the New York Times (NYT) banner on it. It has a visible seam line going around it. The seam makes it look cheap which, it probably is. But it is one of my most prized possessions now.
My little NYT stress ball gave to me over the course of this summer what Tom Hanks got out of 'Wilson' in Cast Away. It was my companion when I had nothing to occupy my mind, and the silence was broken by its recurring twin thud off the wall and my palm. When my mind was too preoccupied, it gave me something mechanical to do to clear my head.
It got me off my chair every time it embarked on a crazy trajectory across my room- bouncing off bookshelves, getting diverted by the edges of walls, and landing with an anticlimactic, subservient silence on top of dirty laundry. Tired from a particularly fast-paced and hard-hitting volley, it slipped my grasp and punched me right in the eye.
I went through a transition this summer, something that will recur at later points in my life. I think I grew up a little more, dealt with a few more demons, and dared to confront adulthood ever so slowly. My focus shifted from ambitions to people, from being carefree to being responsible, and from the world to my self.
Finally, as a blow to my perception of Cool, I confirmed the cliche that, like my NYT, the best things in life are free.
Monday, September 7, 2009
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