the old lady's still got it, part II

So the new season of ultimate frisbee has begun. Ok, actually it began last Sunday, but it wasn't a super good game for me; we were all shaking the rust off. It was still great to be outside, of course. It was sunny and warmish and everything I could ask for in a spring day. But yesterday...

Yesterday rocked. The weather wasn't quite as nice--in fact, it got down right windy and cold, the last quarter hour or so. But I was running on all cylinders and it was a glorious thing.

Now, I'm not trying to complain, because I certainly have no right to. After all, I did it to myself. No one made me fling myself through the air again...and again. I'm just trying to tell it like it is: I laid it out good and hard, quite a few times. I landed so hard once I actually hurt my butt. I was in a good half-dozen midair collisions. (I think I only won two, but the guy had much better ups than me--what could I do?) When I got home, I was so stiff it took conscious effort to get out of the car, stumble to the house, and climb into a hot shower. I went to bed with a hot pack on my quad. This morning, I vaguely feel like I've been hit by a bus.

It was great. No--it was magnificent. Of course I didn't play perfect--I botched a couple catches, for sure, and had trouble getting my long passes to fly right. I got tired on defense. But it doesn't really matter. Because there were moments when everything worked right, when my body and mind seemed to be in harmony, when I acted without hesitation, without fumbling, without thought for what I was about to do.

The play of the day: We were only about a half hour into the game, so I was all warmed up but not yet tired. I charged down the sideline, sprinting to shake my defense, then I obeyed an instinct and began a cut toward the center, looking back over my shoulder. It was a long bomb; I saw it coming. I shifted direction to make the catch, saw the disk curve, lose height. Without thinking, I slid on my hip--a lusciously beautiful softball slide, the well-groomed soccer field turf was dry and just what I needed--and caught the disk a handsbreadth from the ground. In that moment, all was right with the world. I popped back up with ease I couldn't have planned if I tried.

It didn't hurt that from there I was able to throw for the score. Admittedly, the story wouldn't be quite as sweet if I'd been so excited I tanked the toss. Not that I would ever do that...ahem.

But why am I telling this story? I'm not sure. It's probably part of that same personality streak that makes me unashamed of my bruises. (I admit, I even show them off to my mother.) But I think, somehow, that this kind of moment is part of my philosophy of life--or at least how I wish I could live. Perhaps I cannot manage it 24/7, but at least I can lay it out once a week on the field, not holding back, not worrying about what might happen, trusting my body and my brain to take care of each other. Why can't I live like that every day? Why can't that physical abandon translate into my interpersonal endeavors, or my career? I don't really know.

Well, maybe I do. The game has very clear rules, and boundaries--and objectives. I operate within a very secure structure, with known outcomes. I can lay it all out, knowing exactly what I'm risking. And knowing, deep down in, that it really doesn't matter if I make the catch or not. My life will probably not shift direction because I threw the game winning toss or not.

Life in general holds no such easy certainty. And honestly, I doubt I could sustain the kind of energy I would need to live with such abandon. Granted, daily life doesn't generally include flying-through-the-air collisions or short, desperate sprints across the turf. (ok, ok, if you're a professional athlete, ok. shush.) But the energy drain would still be very real. More subtle, harder to gauge. And, I think, harder for me to spend. I know how to replenish my body: stretching, sleep, and hot/cold packs pretty much take care of it; but how do I replenish my mental energy? I know how to handle a physical tumble, but how do I get up after I take an emotional hit? Perhaps I'd figure it out--I certainly haven't made it this far in life with no trouble--but all that gray area makes me feel small, and shy. I've handled smallish hits, but could I handle big ones? Would I even see them coming? Without the boundaries, the rules, the objectives, the reliance on reflexes--I lose some of my fire.

Maybe that's not a bad thing. I'm not sure. I don't want to run through life with rampant recklessness. Forget hurting myself--other people get hurt that way. But I don't want to be a coward, either. As usual, I seek middle ground. But sometimes it's hard to find, and sometimes our hearts cry out to push limits.

Maybe that's why I like this game so much. I get to let all my crazy out, safely. I get to ram around and feel strong, and special, and (maybe just a little) fierce. I get to push myself. And then I get to go home.

Or maybe I just really like frisbee, and all this philosophical stuff is simply a sign that I haven't had enough coffee. Who knows?

deep thoughts and one-liners, v.3

"She's like an Amazon," says the girl to her husband, as I pick up my half of the refrigerator.

backsplash!

Prepping the walls...

The first little wall of tile...

The worst bit ever (check all the cuts I had to make)...

And more tile...

Pause to grout and caulk...and done!

deep thoughts and one-liners, v.2

"I trust you impeccably," says Bob.

deep thoughts and one-liners, v.1

I desire to be the object of your perception.

first signs of spring

Check it out!

Look what's growing on the south side of my house! It's a perfect spot--the only place where the snow has totally melted, tucked out of the wind and right smack in the sunshine.

I can't wait to see what they are. I'm thinking this massive cluster is daffodils.

But these, I'm not so sure. Tulips and grape hyacinth? Oh, I hope they don't get killed off in a late cold snap. It happens. After all, we still have another month of winter. But man, it's hard not to think spring when I come home from work to a sight like this.

the same old fight

Is there any sort of life out there that doesn't make you deal with the same crap over and over again? Because that sounds mighty nice. I sit back, sip my herbal tea, wish I was drinking coffee, and dream of a world where things are dealt with, resolved, and (poof!) gone.
Then I realize where most of these repetitious issues come from: me. And you just can't live without yourself, I don't care what philosophers say. I keep repeating the same behaviors, hoping for different results. And that, as we've all heard, is the definition of crazy.
I keep waiting for someone to wave that magic wand and create positive change. I keep resting on my good intentions. I keep hiding behind excuses: "that's just my personality," "it's genetic," "I can't risk it," "most of the time it's fine," "I don't know how to begin,". . . and my all-time favorite, "things aren't really bad and you're being too dramatic."
I'm not much good at trying new things. Not sure why--I've never thought of myself as a scaredy-cat. And I never, ever want to feel that I'm afraid of hard work. But maybe I am both of those things. I don't know. Compared to. . . but wait--I can't measure myself on anyone else's yardstick, remember? It's just me and the truth. And the truth stings.
I think I need to pray a very dangerous prayer: I need the status quo to be unbearable, to feel I have no choice but change. God, help me change. Make me uncomfortable. Help me slough off this pervasive, subtle laziness. Without your help, in five years I'll still be sitting at this desk in pants that are just a tad too tight, wishing I was somewhat more awesome. Again.