When Hustle Hurts Your Soul

“Hustle!!!” I hear my father’s voice over the clash of shin pads and the scuffle of cleats. “Hustle, Shelly, hustle!!” And I do, I hustle, springing after the soccer ball, challenging defensive opponents twice my size, refusing to flinch when the ball is kicked square at my face.

Truth be told, I hustled on the soccer field and off all through my childhood and young adulthood, and not just to please my father. I don’t know if it’s a product of nature or nurture or a combination of both, but...