When I was four, my seven-year-old brother received a baseball mitt (手套) for his birthday. Every night, as we went to sleep, I’d listen to him throwing a ball into the mitt over and over to soften the leather. I wanted a mitt so much that I almost cried. But, back then, girls didn’t play sports; they played with dolls.

Fast-forward twenty-six years. Now a thirty-year-old mother of three happened to see a notice in my local paper: “Women’s Slow-Pitch Softball League opens soon. Anyone interested, sign up at the recreation center.” I cut it out and set it on the kitchen counter. Could I ? After all these years? Was it even possible to think about playing baseball, a game I’d never actually played but had dreamed of playing my entire life? And I’d certainly watched enough Chicago Cubs games to know how the game was played.

I looked at that notice on my counter every day. I thought of a thousand reasons why I couldn’t play. But the idea of playing baseball stuck in my head and wouldn’t go away. Finally, I got up my courage and signed up at the recreation center. On the way home, I bought myself a mitt.

On Monday, heart pounding, I walked through the park filled with women of all ages practicing. It took me a while to find my team. They were all high-school girls, seventeen and eighteen years old!

The coach was not at all happy to see me. He had put together top athletes for his team, and he didn’t want some old lady messing things up.

That first day, he had me run bases. What that meant was I’d stand near home plate(本垒板)while one of the girls batted, and then I’d run as hard as I could to first base, trying to get there before they threw me out. I did this over and over and over. I never got a chance to bat or play the field. I just ran bases all night. The next morning, I could barely stand.

I was still feeling pain when I showed up to play the next week.

Having seen my determination, the coach changed his attitude toward me.

Here’s the story of my growth over the past year. It’s a story of how I found the strength to change myself for better and then how I get rid of my fears to be even better. If anyone is inspired by this, that’s wonderful.

I’d been stuck as this incredibly insecure, under-confident and just scared individual for years and years. Since childhood I’d been stuck like this. Kids I met for the first time looked at me rudely and unkindly. Even my friends—actually, I had very few friends because I just felt too ashamed and frightened to make some, though I was eager to and felt extremely lonely in the depth of my heart—laughed at me and gave me bad nicknames. I felt terrible, but I’d just resigned to a life where I’d be afraid of everything and be this “introvert” (内向的人) or whatever. I thought I would never be able to change, never, for my whole life.

But then it all started changing. Something clicked. I suddenly determined to go on a diet, and lost some weight. It was tough. I felt hungry all the time. I was always tempted by the smell of bread and hamburger, even when I didn’t see them. But the toughest thing was that even if I had just had my meals, I felt hunger mentally. However, I held on. In over a period of 6 months I finally managed to stick to one of my diets. I didn’t know how. But I did make it.

The loss of 90 lbs brought me from overweight straight down to underweight. This isn’t the best part. More importantly and inspiringly, I suddenly found strength in me. I realized I could be totally different. And maybe, I could even be whatever I wanted to be. This taught me that I could change myself.

Then I wondered, perhaps, I could also get rid of those of my fears, just like I succeeded in losing my extra pounds. It might not be easy, but it might not be that difficult.

Chance presented itself soon.

It was from that point on that I started changing rapidly.

The city circle was quiet when my van pulled up to Two’s Company café. It was 8:00 A.M., and the mom-and-pop businesses wouldn’t be open for another three hours. As the film crew of student movie-makers hopped out of the van and started unloading a ton of equipment, I sat in the driver’s seat reading a book.

I learned a long time ago that I was not wanted or needed on the set. Sometimes, that made me feel a bit sad. These kids used to need a parent’s advice, help and caring. Now, as older teens, they were making their own decisions, helping each other and supporting their friends through whatever assignments they were given.

Emptied of its movie-related contents, the van now became the place to leave personal items. My job, as the driver, was to stay within calling distance with the keys so that if anything was needed I could open the van. Knowing that I could crawl (爬行) into a corner somewhere and finish reading the book that a friend asked me to critique, I looked for a place to sit down. Against a wall, in the shade, just twenty or so paces away, I spied a beautifully carved park bench. I noticed that a man was sitting on one end, but there was plenty of room for at least two more bodies. Walking over, I set my drink on the ground near the leg of the bench and sat on the end seat so that I could rest my elbow (肘) on the arm. The man on the other end looked at me oddly but remained seated.

I quickly discovered that he’d probably spent the night on the bench. His clothes were untidy, his hair was messy, and I was soon confronted (使……面对) with a strong and very unpleasant smell of body sweat. I looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back with a mouth of misshapen and blacked-out teeth. That was it. He wasn’t bothering me, and I guessed I wasn’t bothering him. We both sat there for over an hour. I was reading. He was intently watching the filming.