A Burst Ball

The burst basketball sulks in a nettle bush.

I fish it out with a stick and kick it as far as the basketball court in the park.

It’s deflated, but there’s enough air left in it to throw at the hoop.

It misses. My dog’s not interested, off rolling on his own ball.

The guilt creeps in. I’m on my lunch break and there are project amendments awaiting me in the studio.

But where is the guilt from? The client? No. They’ve been great. The end user? No. Myself? Yes, a learned behaviour. But on what level?

Conditioning? Yes. I think so. Productivity, the great self-soother. If we’re going, going, going, then we’re closer to success, aren’t we?

Telling someone they don’t work hard might as well be an insinuation their old man works for Avon. That’s how much glory they’ve coated that notion in.

Recognising the artificiality of this guilt, I shove it out of the way. It doesn’t go, but stands off, shocked by my retaliation.

I shoot the ball. Woefully wide. But this bending is good for my back. The throwing works my chest, arms, shoulders, and neck. It refocuses my brain, and the lethargy that had been settling like dust on the top of a picture frame is blown away. Finally, I score one, and take a pathetic amount of glee from this win.

I get back to my desk five minutes later than I intended to, but I work with far more focus that I would have if I’d adhered to my systemic guilt.

It’s a valuable lesson to remember.