It is again one of my favorite times of year. It's MAYhem - time for the Women's College World Series [softball]. I played fast pitch softball my whole life...from T-ball through college...and a few tournaments beyond that. Now, I play slow pitch. This time of year, I often find myself torn between finding something enjoyable to do outside with these first rounds of sunshine and hot weather or watching game after game of softball...I always choose the latter. Maybe, one day, I'll get my dream outdoor area that includes a TV for such purposes. I digress.
Softball. What a game! What a life it made for me. One of my longest friendships came from the softball field. There is a bond that continues throughout life even if I wasn't best friends with every teammate. I still keep in touch with the girls (and coaches) I met in Pixie League, high school, and college. One of those teammates drove down just days after my dad died to show up for me during some of the hardest days of my life.
My dad and I will forever be connected with the game of softball. He helped coach me growing up and continued to coach me in high school, even if somewhat reluctantly. I remember talking about the game on the ride home. I remember putting a dent in his truck, which inevitably ended my very short and not very illustrious pitching career. I mean he’s the one who set up near his truck, so his fault right?
I remember years of us watching softball together on TV. I remember when the ball went from white to a neon yellow. I remember watching 1-0 strikeout duels. I remember him picking out uniforms for us out of a catalog. He liked the look of these dazzle cloth uniforms that had Fresno State's logo. He was so proud finding those for the team. I remember the commercials selling video tapes of drills and coaching tips...and he bought them. We watched those tapes in his classroom on a rainy day. I remember an impromptu sliding practice in the outfield on a very rainy day.
But this isn't a love letter to the game of softball...though, if I continued down that path, I could write one.
What hit me this week was the last game I played at the collegiate level. It was in our conference tournament. We had won it before. I was a part of that. I had a roommate who still seems to remember every play of every game by every player. It's kind of crazy.
Now, I don't remember a lot of the games or plays or at bats. I wish I remembered more…especially the highs. It mostly just falls into this blur of an indescribable feeling. I do remember bits and pieces of that last game.
I was playing second base and there was a frustration felt by the team [or at least by me]. The other team kept executing small ball so well...perfectly placed bunts in a Bermuda triangle between 1st, pitcher, and 2nd. Dingy little "base hits." Death by a thousand paper cuts. We didn't seem to have an answer. I remember the eyes of my teammates, the seniors, as our opponent continued to put runs up on the board. I remember the surge of emotions out on the field...tears welling up, being blinked away...a hunger and a fight...a never give up attitude...a flickering fire...the realization of what a loss would mean to so many of us. We felt it.
We were down. It was the 7th inning...and this was it. I don't remember the exact sequence but I do remember a younger player starting a rally for us. We got loud. The flickering fire was now a roaring blaze. We could do this. We started adding runs to the board. They managed to get 2 outs. The tension was palpable again. But we had a runner on base. One of the seniors was up to bat. She had no fear. And I... I was on deck.
I stood there, going through my routine...focused...getting ready...getting prepared. I prepped my stance. I prepped my timing. I prepped my eyes on what pitch I wanted...and what pitch I didn't want. I had been here before, but I hadn’t been HERE before. I may have looked calm and ready...and maybe I was.
Time sped up while also coming to a complete standstill. I felt the weight of the "elephant on the field" [not an actual phrase] ...this could be IT! MY LAST AT BAT. These thoughts started trickling in until there was a rush...a whoosh.
Next came an onslaught of every practice running through my mind...every swing...every drill...every trip to the weight room...every bit of conditioning. And I wanted it all back. Had I done enough? I wanted one more of everything. I remember thinking I should have done more. I should have worked harder. I could have done more. I could have worked harder. Every bit of practice had led me to this moment. Was I ready?
I'll never know. The batter ahead of me flew out [to left field I think]. And my heart broke for her. Little did I know my last at bat ended up being a couple innings earlier. I successfully put down a sacrifice bunt...with two strikes...that followed along the first base chalk line. If you know the game, you know that's not a very common call from the coach - a 2 strike sac bunt signal. If that ball goes foul, it's an automatic out. So why did my coach give me the sign? Honestly, I don't really know. I have a few theories...
He didn't know I had 2 strikes.
He had confidence I would get the bunt down.
He had so little confidence, he'd rather take a chance on me bunting than swinging away.
I misread the sign.
I watched my teammates cry that day. I cried out there on the field. I cried on the bus ride home until I fell asleep. And I cried with all of them that night.
I watched players cry today. I watched the number 2 team in the nation [Florida State] lose [an upset] after being so dominant all season long. And it got me thinking again. Those few seconds in the on deck circle - I remember them clearly...knowing all that I had put into preparing for that moment...wondering "had I done enough?"...wishing for just a little more.
I take that feeling with me even still today. That is not to say I succeed in pushing myself to my limit and beyond in every aspect of my life each and every day. Quite the opposite at times. But I do remember that hunger of wanting more - for myself and for those around me...and wanting more time to get it.
But I did practice hard. I did work hard. I loved practice. And I practiced extra. My roommate and I went up to a grassy lot and practiced diving when I realized I was a hesitant to do it. And I remember the first time I dove towards second, completely laid out, and stopped a ball…one of the best feelings on the field. My dad and I went out to a field over the summer so I could practice throwing from my knees. I did the workouts in the summer even when no one else would know. I went to the batting cages on my own over the breaks and after I broke my finger. Still, I wanted more.
When the game was on the line...when I was on deck for that moment to be the hero...that moment we all dream about...I knew the pain of wanting more. I knew there was no more time. I knew I was as prepared as I was ever going to be. There were no more moments of practice.
I knew I had been capable of more than I had shown all along. I couldn't pin point why I hadn't reached my full potential. I stayed confident. I trusted I would get there. There was a disconnect. I sort of knew what I needed but not how to achieve it. I had glimmers here and there and thought I had broken out of it.
Feeling like I was finally fully arriving, I broke my finger. I was out the remainder of fall ball. I KNEW when I came back, I was READY. This was my year. I was feeling it. My coach, however, wasn’t and I spent much of my junior season on the bench. I delivered when my name was called. I kept a good, encouraging attitude. I thought that would be enough. I regret not speaking up. I regret not fighting for myself more. I regret listening to others more than myself. I regret relying on others to speak up for me. I regret not taking the right action, but I did what I thought was right at the time.
My dad's death was a swift kick to the gut, to my very soul. Death will remind you like a sobering slap in the face of what really matters in life.
Prior to my dad's death I had started getting pretty antsy about my purpose. Apparently, psychologically, that is common to experience at some point in life. I felt stagnant. I felt purposeless. [see the theory of generativity vs stagnation for a decent description of what I was wresting with early in 2021...the concept was introduced to me in therapy]. And I did not want to feel that way -stagnant and purposeless.
I think I hit this stage (or these feelings) a little earlier because of my dad's sudden cancer diagnosis. This was a shock to all of our systems. A chink in the armor of our who family. A rumbling underfoot of our once solid foundation. Death entered my mind. Legacy entered my mind. Time entered my mind.
I started pushing my relationship with my boyfriend towards an end goal [marriage]...figuring out a path to get there. We talked about marriage a lot. That was the plan. I just kept waiting...thinking marriage would happen...thinking he would ask...thinking we would find our way there…eventually. But I didn't want to keep waiting for eventually to never come. I was ready for that adventure to start.
I started evaluating my life and my role in other people's lives. I struggled with the fact I wasn't a parent. I, again, felt purposeless. I felt like I was spinning my wheels. I started evaluating where I was and where I was going...how I expected to eventually live this other life...how I wanted to be involved and active and making a difference...but I had the realization that my current path was not going to get me there.
So, what is the point of all this? Why did I go down memory lane of my time on deck in that last game and then swerve off onto some other road? Because, we will all have our moments "on deck". Some would say this is where we prepare...and it is. But the prep work happens long before getting in the on deck circle...long before our name is called...long before we show what we can do.
You can't scramble at that point and try to prepare. You can't suddenly gain the strength that months of work in the gym will provide. You won't suddenly develop quick hands.
You won't suddenly become something you haven't worked towards.
I always knew I was capable of more...in ball and in life. But I wasn't putting myself in a position to reach "more." I kept waiting for something to change. I kept thinking “eventually”. I kept waiting for "the real me" to break through. I expected to be the hero. I expected to be the person I had imagined. I expected an outcome I had not worked towards. I didn't know what changes to make. Some days I still don't.
But I do know to quit waiting. I don't want to find myself waiting on deck wondering if I will succeed. I don't want to find myself waiting to be the person I can be. I got that push I needed and some helpful guidance. I decided. I have taken action. I am the one making changes. I am the one doing the work. I am trying to be all that I was made to be. I am learning who she is and how to get there. When my name is called, I want to walk with confidence - not longing for more time.
All that time I spent waiting, I spent waiting on myself.
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