Hop, Skip, Leap of Faith
Hop, Skip, Leap of Faith
Earlier this summer, I saw something as rare as catching lightning in a jar.
Kids playing hopscotch.
In 2026.
Once I got home, I put thought to paper. This is what came from it:
Chalk dust catching the last of the evening light. A worn stone marker passed hand to hand. Ten squares, numbered, waiting for a foot to land.
Hopscotch.
A game we all played as children.
A start.
A finish.
Ten numbered squares between.
One marker.
One foot.
Begin at number one.
End at number 10.
As children, we saw only the squares and fretted about getting the marker to land in the right number, the one that was next on our list. Then successfully hopped into the nine we could, and avoided the one we couldn't. The one with the marker.
But what if we played as adults?
And what if, the squares represent our life, and not a game?
As children, we rushed through the game, careful not to step on the lines, or outside the lines.
Then, all that mattered was our one foot landing in each square.
Now, it's our lives that we hop into.
Now, each square matters equally, since each represents a part of our life.
Now, it is our choice where to land and what to avoid.
Or is it?
How often are we playing someone else's game and not our own?
How often do we look down and see the squares already marked for us, while our fingers are devoid of chalk?
How often do we live someone else's choices and not our own?
Everyone has their own hopscotch. And if you look, most don't have you in a square. As for the people closest to you, sometimes you are only there for when they fail. And everyone fails at hopscotch. But that failure isn't what you think it is.
You didn't fail because you touched a line, and your second foot touched the ground.
You failed because of this:
You set the squares for everyone else.
So erase them.
And then set them for you.
Final Buzzer
Those kids on the sidewalk reminded me of a trap I sometimes fall into.
Playing someone else's game, striving for someone else's prize, living inside a scoreboard that has no meaning or value to me.
This is my reminder for us both to bring awareness back to what’s truly important while we’re still hopping.
Draw your own ten squares.
Your game.
Your life.
Challenging you head-on and always in your corner,
— Coach VJ
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