Apparently, my timing really stinks.

Lately it seems that I can’t get anything right when it comes to being in the right place, with the right answer, resources, or presence and instead of events going off without a hitch they go off with a stutter and a choking sound.    I am the woodwind with two left feet in an army marching band.   I’m the drummer that can’t find a beat.   I’m the clock with a tooth missing on the main cog.

So much of life is a matter of timing — that innate sense that some people to push when you need a push, pull when situations require a pull, and to back the hell off when you’re best to leave a circumstance alone.     I’ve always been envious of the folks that always seem to make the right step, follow the correct path, and construct the perfect plans.   You know the type — he’s the one that always dodges the bullet despite the gung-ho attitude, and she’s the one that you are sure will falter and yet comes out smelling like a rose AND with a gift certificate.

Maybe I get too passionate in one direction or another and I should mellow out and float rather than fight the current; or, maybe I should be bolder than I am.   People make great strides by being complete and utter dicks — maybe that’s my calling?   It was always the “bad boy” that got the bombshell girl, maybe taking the same approach with life has its benefits?

Most of the time, I’m not sure if I’m striking out because I missed the ball or I simply missed the fact that there was a pitch thrown at all.

It’s probably all in the timing.