Damn the Torpedoes...

Courtesy of Erik Spanberg via the Christian Science Monitor:

Former Green Bay Packers center Bill Curry recalls just one halftime speech during his entire 10-year playing career. He was a rookie when the Packers, coached by the legendary Vince Lombardi, were getting drubbed by the Detroit Lions. The Lions had just returned an interception for a touchdown, adding to the Packers' misery.

Both teams shared the same sideline, and as Lions lineman Alex Karras was exiting the field, he turned to Lombardi and screamed, "How'd you like that, you fat bleeping bleep?!" Curry expected Lombardi would excoriate his underachieving club at halftime. Instead, the coach stood alone through most of the intermission and said nothing. Just before the Packers returned to the field, Lombardi told his team, "Men, we're the Green Bay Packers," and walked out. Green Bay won the game, crushing Detroit in the second half.

In a few hours, it'll be 2006. I'm gearing up for the LSAT in February and, God willing, law school in September. But I'm nearly 30; and for a variety of reasons, I find myself in need of a halftime speech.

This year broke a stalemate. I finished school and got engaged, putting two considerable milestones in my rearview. I also flubbed two chances to impress people who could have helped me, and I learned exactly how much damage can be caused by perfectionism — which, it turns out, is a fancy name and flimsy rationale for procrastination. Henceforth, it is my sworn enemy.

Kerrie and I have amassed [REDACTED] in joint savings over the past two years. It's a decent start, and will probably serve as a down payment for our first house. I can't help wondering how many of our present goals will be derailed by kids, but we'll see what happens; if we don't hit the lottery, her MBA and my JD should keep food on the table.

She's intently focused on where she wants to be. I'm focused on what I want to do. My hope is that between the two of us, we've got the outfield covered. Life favors curve balls; but we're sufficiently different to complement each other well, so we've got a fighting chance at keeping our heads above water. And if not, we'll sprout gills. We're both fighters.

I still have trouble seeing the glass half-full some days. I probably always will. In lieu of a rousing halftime speech, since those appear to be eschewed by the pros, I'll lean on a chestnut from an old friend:

What one man can do, another can do.

If ever there were a mantra. Every time I read about a guy discovering plutonium or inventing the airplane, every picture I see of a submarine or a skyscraper, that's something I could do. There was a time, I couldn't imagine myself putting pen to paper and composing a symphony; but I've got a box of music and a few dozen recordings as proof that you can't know what lies around the next bend.