Have you ever wanted something that seemed out of reach?
What did you do about it? Did you:
A) Shrivel into a ball of doubt and fear, telling yourself you didn’t want it anyway?
B) Make a few half-hearted attempts to achieve your goal, followed by a collapse into a lifeless pile of defeat?
C) Charge after your object of desire like a Goofball in a candy shop?
(And if you’ve ever seen a Goofball in a candy shop, you can attest to the unbridled power and potential of option C.)
When I was younger, faced with the possibility of pursuing my dreams, I would choose option A or B. Yes, I was frustrated. Yes, I would have preferred to unleash the candy-charging-Goofball within. But I didn’t feel capable of full-out pursuit.
That is, until I started on the path of spiritual growth.
I have had many teachers in my life, wise souls who have helped me actualize my potential. Some of them you may have heard of – Louise Hay, Ram Dass, Ernest Holmes, Abraham Hicks.
Today I would like to introduce you to another one of my teachers, one who has been hiding out in obscurity, content to rest in her vast knowledge and chase an occasional catnip mouse.
That’s right, Goofballs. I’m talking about my cat, Lucy.
Lucy is a bad ass. And I mean that in the best sense of the word.
Whatever Lucy wants, she goes after. True, mostly what she wants to do is sleep.
And then sleep some more.
But sometimes, her pursuits take a more active form.
Check it out:
I live in a condo complex, and my house is located right next to the recreation center, a center which includes a pool.
Because of my proximity to the pool, I see an occasional water-toy get tossed over the side of the fence and onto the lawn between the pool and my house. Usually, I throw the toys back into the pool area and go about my business.
But one day, I came home from work to find this:
It had been dropped at the end of the bed in my upstairs bedroom.
I lived alone at the time. There were no fellow humans living in the house with me. The only other resident of the house was Lucy. But the pink football was twice as big as her head. How on earth did she get it into the house?
I suspected that the origin of the football was the pool. After all, it has the words “water fun” emblazened on its side.
But how did Lucy get it from the pool into the house?
In order to get from the pool area to my bedroom, she would have had to go across this lawn
down this sidewalk
jump this fence
climb over these rooftops
scoot through the cat door
and climb these set of stairs.
All the while carrying the football in her mouth.
I have to say, in my life as a cat mom, I had never been more proud.
I couldn’t help but marvel at the determination she must have had to complete her quest. I could just hear all the other cats, scoffing at her:
What are you, crazy? You can’t get that thing back to your house! It’s too big! How are you going to jump the fences with that monstrosity? That’s so not cool. You’re going to look like an idiot. You’re a cat, for God’s sake. Have some self-respect!!
But Lucy didn’t care. She ignored the taunts and nay-sayers, and she marched back to the house with that pink football in her mouth.
I know, I should have taken it back to the pool. But I was just too proud.
To this day, it’s her favorite toy. Every afternoon, I take the football and place it on top of this scratching post in the downstairs living room.
And every morning, when I wake up, the football is in our upstairs bedroom, at the end of the bed.
It’s like she’s reenacting her quest, again and again. Basking in the glory of obtaining the unobtainable.
So, whenever there’s something in my life that seems impossible, something that others might doubt or question, I think of Lucy and her pink football. And I say:
This one’s for you, Lucy. You did it, and I can too!
When have you obtained the unobtainable? What are the pink footballs in your life?