It feels like I wasted years trying to perfect prescribed movements, diligently following the playbook and—most annoyingly, in retrospect—attempting to meet others’ expectations.
Too long I tried to imitate the greats: a Martin Crowe on-drive, a Neil Fairbrother sweep, the Ricky Ponting swivel-pull.
Pure folly. They were them. I was me. Not in the same street.
The irony? Looking back, my successes came from doing what I did well. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Most importantly, it was repeatable.
Please, find your own rhythms.
Happy days. Today is post #200.
I’m pleased it fell on a Friday—the day of the week that floats my boat.
Past halfway now, and still musing the question from a while back: “Will you stop on April 1, 2027—or keep writing?”
The closer we get, the more keeping going feels like a “why not.”
We’ll see. For now, I just wanted to say thank you. I really appreciate you being here.
Nick
