There was a game we played at Juilliard (we actually had a "games" class). It was called Magic Shoe.
And it went like this: one person threw a shoe, we all sang a little ditty, and then a person who had previously been blindfolded went and found said shoe.
And the whole point of the game wasn’t to spread out your arms and cast your net as wide as possible (which is, of course, what we all attempted), it was this: to walk confidently in the direction of the shoe, as if you knew exactly where it was. And when people did that--when people actually gave that a go (which is so much harder than it sounds)--they always came within inches of the thing.
It was incredible to behold.
I’m starting to think life is more like a game of Magic Shoe than first imagined. Which is hilarious and fun and deeply comforting.
The reason it's so hard is because it is blind faith (like, quite actually!). Because one must risk failure. Because we don't. actually. know. Because we might look like a fool. Because those on the side watching might laugh at us (but, and this feels important to note, the people on the side want us to succeed--it is fun to watch, to cheer, to share in another's attempt. And if they don't {as is sometimes the case}, it has more to do with them then us).
It's about walking confidently in one direction and giving it a go. And sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, but certainly it is a hell of a lot of fun. And whether we "get" the shoe or not, it usually moves our life forward.
I wrote a book! (in case you didn't know):
