Enter the nerd. Five foot eight, rail thin, with braces, and coke-bottle lenses. He’s as awkward as they come. He looks as smart as he is unathletic. He talks nasally and seems to constantly struggle with the sniffles. He looks at home behind his laptop, but may never carry on a conversation with a real woman. His hand has a callous from his grip on his inhaler. He wouldn’t be caught dead on a dance floor.
I get to say these things, because I’ve been there. Look at this guy [insert picture eventually]. I know what every bit of that feels like. My only saving grace is that I always had a knack for sports. You name it, I could play it, and well for the most part. And I never had an inhaler.
What if this is all preventable? What if nerdom is a choice? I say choice. The guy was doomed from the moment he sat in with the optometrist. 
He’s probably underweight, and battling with anxiety, not caused by, but certainly not helped by his corrective lenses. The level of anxiety is essentially trapped from that moment onward, because if he relaxes from that point onward, he will not be able to focus in his lenses. You can go ahead and call these “quirks” of his personality. He wasn’t born like this. He wasn’t meant to be like this. He was meant to be calm. He was mean to be happy.
Don’t mistake this as me saying that I think every skinny white kid could play in the NBA. Because I’m not. What I am saying though, is that there is an optimal self, some sort of athlete, in there somewhere.
If you haven’t found it yet, it’s not too late.
Don't Read This Blog 