The Philosophy of the Super Ball

I was going through my old files the other day, the digital equivalent of opening a dusty box in the attic, when I came across something I wrote years ago. I smiled before I even finished the first paragraph. It turns out I once had very strong feelings about a Super Ball.

It all started while I was killing time before one of my daughter’s indoor soccer games. I had exactly one lonely quarter in my pocket and a few minutes to burn, so I did what any responsible adult would do. I bought a Super Ball. You know the kind. Small. Rubber. Completely unwilling to stop bouncing.

My original plan was to hand it off to the younger kids roaming the sidelines. A nice gesture. Very generous. But then I bounced it once. And again. And that was the end of my altruism. Let the kids buy their own toys.

Something about that little ball pulled me in. The more it bounced, the more I thought about how spectacular life might be if I had even a fraction of its energy and resilience. Give me Super Ball stamina and I would be unstoppable. Superwoman times twenty. I’m fairly certain Wonder Woman and Catwoman would politely step aside.

Super Balls have been known to bounce over three story buildings. Three stories. That is commitment to the comeback. If I were a Super Ball, I would bounce back higher every single timeI fell. And then I would bounce again. And again. Because why stop when momentum is on your side?

That kind of life sounds perfect to me. Rolling along wherever I land. Thrown, kicked, misplaced, temporarily forgotten. None of it personal. None of it permanent. Just movement, air time, and the next bounce waiting patiently below.

There is also something undeniably joyful about a Super Ball. You cannot bounce one without smiling. It’s physics. Or magic. Possibly both. If I were a Super Ball, people around me would smile more without even realizing why. Apparently dozens of them were once shipped to the White House just to keep staff morale up. No law degree required. Just bounce.

Then there’s the durability. Super Balls are compressed under tens of thousands of pounds of pressure and heated to temperatures that would make most of us melt. And they come out better for it. Imagine that. Pressure and heat as a makeover instead of a breakdown, like a diamond. Goodbye stress headaches. Goodbye fragility.

And of course, style matters. Super Balls come in every color and pattern imaginable. If I had to choose, I would be transparent with glitter all the way through. Subtle sparkle. Inner shine. Always dressed to impress without trying too hard.

Even the Super Bowl owes its name to the Super Ball. A small, bouncy piece of brilliance inspiring something much bigger. For that, thanks are due to the inventor who made it all possible. You didn’t just create a toy. You created a philosophy.

Reading this now, years later, I still kind of want to be a Super Ball. Not literally. Mostly. But the idea holds up.

• Bounce when you can.
• Rise higher than expected.
• Keep your sparkle visible.

And when life throws you hard at the ground, let that be the very thing that sends you flying.