Nik and I don’t have very many friends. At least not ones that are close enough to hang out with. So, since we’ve been married, it’s been a lot of just the two of us. Will Smith, anyone?
But minicamp started last Wednesday and life won’t be the same for many months. You see, my dear husband has gotten many long, lost friends back and already made some new ones. And you know what that means? A lot more plans sans the wifey and a lot more opportunities to walk into my apartment saying “Hello honey!” only to find myself talking to Matt Richardson.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Confessions
(They’re nothing like Usher’s thank heavens)
It’s time. Nik has been telling me this gently and not so gently. It’s time for me to just come out and say it.
I am a control freak.
It’s not entirely my fault though, I swear. Just look at what I found at typeapersonality.org:
“Individuals with Type A personality tend to get irritated or impatient at the slightest of changes in their plans. They also tend to get upset over the smallest issues. Individuals with type A personality often tend to display excessive aggressiveness under provoked situations which in turn causes a lot of stress and trauma in the individual and his or her well being.”
OH.MY.GOSH. It’s like they know me!
You too? Do you want to stop acting/being this way? Start dating a baseball player. It will be quite the adjustment but I guarantee you will become a more balanced person. It’s better than a stress management class and it comes with real-world experiences like dramatic breakdowns.
I know because I am a type A personality. I live for plans. To do lists, spreadsheets, detailed itineraries. They exhilarate me, they bring me joy—it’s a sickness. In baseball, there are really no such things as plans. You can make them but they rarely work out.
But the love of planning isn’t something that just goes away. So I’ve developed somewhat of a compromise for myself. I make tentative plans for every foreseeable option. Apartments we’ll live in if we’re in Trenton-check. Road trips I’ll go on if we’re in Scranton-decided. Days I’ll take off work if we’re in Tampa-you know those were set ten minutes after the schedule was released. I know there’s a large chance that none or all of these things will matter this season, but I’ve slowly become more flexible and I don’t even get “irritated or impatient at the slightest of changes in [my] plans” anymore usually (I’m a work in progress).
So why keep planning at all? One, it’s a compulsion. I can’t help or stop myself. But two, it makes me feel like I have some semblance of control. I simultaneously believe my plans will be worth something at some point and know that they won’t. It may sound crazy, but it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.
It’s time. Nik has been telling me this gently and not so gently. It’s time for me to just come out and say it.
I am a control freak.
It’s not entirely my fault though, I swear. Just look at what I found at typeapersonality.org:
“Individuals with Type A personality tend to get irritated or impatient at the slightest of changes in their plans. They also tend to get upset over the smallest issues. Individuals with type A personality often tend to display excessive aggressiveness under provoked situations which in turn causes a lot of stress and trauma in the individual and his or her well being.”
OH.MY.GOSH. It’s like they know me!
You too? Do you want to stop acting/being this way? Start dating a baseball player. It will be quite the adjustment but I guarantee you will become a more balanced person. It’s better than a stress management class and it comes with real-world experiences like dramatic breakdowns.
I know because I am a type A personality. I live for plans. To do lists, spreadsheets, detailed itineraries. They exhilarate me, they bring me joy—it’s a sickness. In baseball, there are really no such things as plans. You can make them but they rarely work out.
But the love of planning isn’t something that just goes away. So I’ve developed somewhat of a compromise for myself. I make tentative plans for every foreseeable option. Apartments we’ll live in if we’re in Trenton-check. Road trips I’ll go on if we’re in Scranton-decided. Days I’ll take off work if we’re in Tampa-you know those were set ten minutes after the schedule was released. I know there’s a large chance that none or all of these things will matter this season, but I’ve slowly become more flexible and I don’t even get “irritated or impatient at the slightest of changes in [my] plans” anymore usually (I’m a work in progress).
So why keep planning at all? One, it’s a compulsion. I can’t help or stop myself. But two, it makes me feel like I have some semblance of control. I simultaneously believe my plans will be worth something at some point and know that they won’t. It may sound crazy, but it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Things You Shouldn’t Say
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before…this well-meaning lady at church said something that really irritated me a few weeks ago. I should qualify that by admitting that I often get irate for almost no reason when people say seemingly innocuous things.
So, yeah, it got me thinking on a train of things you shouldn’t say to baseball players or their WAGs. I was sort of forming a post in my head about it, and I kept thinking you are a little mean and kind of petty and possibly make people self-conscious (because clearly everyone bases their self-worth on my blog posts). So I decided to not be ridiculous and just stick to the facts-what she said and why it bothered me.
This lady says to me (with an extremely serious face and tone), “That [baseball] is a really hard life. I mean it is really hard.” She continued to repeat this in different variations about four more times. I nodded politely and thought if you say the word hard or difficult or anything synonymous with those two words again, I am gonna freak out right here in the middle of the Lord’s house.
Did I mention my natural tendency is toward sarcasm? I wanted to respond with “My gosh! It’s hard? Well, these past almost three years we’ve been doing this, it seemed like such a breeze! The solo road trips, the long-distance phone calls, the crappy pay, the ridiculous hours, the paralyzing uncertainty and the copious amounts of fast food and strange roommates felt like a frickin’ Roman Holiday!”
I do you want to know, however, that [I’m not a terrible person] had she inserted the measly word “seems” as in “it seems like a really hard life”, I would’ve thought it was nice, empathetic, compassionate even. But, and trust me when I tell you this, no matter what her intentions were, it came across as if she’d said to me are you sure you wanna do this sweetie because I really don’t think you know what you’re getting into.
So, if I were bolder and, arguably, ruder and a little more hormonal at that place and time, I like to think I would’ve said the following: “Thank you for your concern. It really is hard. I panic sometimes thinking about how our lives are at the mercy of so many factors that are out of our control it’s terrifying. And I worry everyday about having enough money to do all the things we’ve both dreamed of. And I even get sick some days wondering how we can raise the family we want with a life like this. And my eyes water at the thought of ever having to say another long goodbye. And I’m scared about how to make the best decisions when we don’t know what will happen to us in five months, let alone five years. But, you know, I came into this relationship with my eyes wide open. And somewhere along this road filled with the fear and the unknown and the trials, I decided my husband and our relationship was worth all of it. So, as naïve as it may sound, I am positive that as long as we’re together we’ll always be okay. And when you believe that, the hard just doesn’t really matter too much.”
I might even have added “Good day!” at the end. Nice touch or too much? I never quite know.
So, yeah, it got me thinking on a train of things you shouldn’t say to baseball players or their WAGs. I was sort of forming a post in my head about it, and I kept thinking you are a little mean and kind of petty and possibly make people self-conscious (because clearly everyone bases their self-worth on my blog posts). So I decided to not be ridiculous and just stick to the facts-what she said and why it bothered me.
This lady says to me (with an extremely serious face and tone), “That [baseball] is a really hard life. I mean it is really hard.” She continued to repeat this in different variations about four more times. I nodded politely and thought if you say the word hard or difficult or anything synonymous with those two words again, I am gonna freak out right here in the middle of the Lord’s house.
Did I mention my natural tendency is toward sarcasm? I wanted to respond with “My gosh! It’s hard? Well, these past almost three years we’ve been doing this, it seemed like such a breeze! The solo road trips, the long-distance phone calls, the crappy pay, the ridiculous hours, the paralyzing uncertainty and the copious amounts of fast food and strange roommates felt like a frickin’ Roman Holiday!”
I do you want to know, however, that [I’m not a terrible person] had she inserted the measly word “seems” as in “it seems like a really hard life”, I would’ve thought it was nice, empathetic, compassionate even. But, and trust me when I tell you this, no matter what her intentions were, it came across as if she’d said to me are you sure you wanna do this sweetie because I really don’t think you know what you’re getting into.
So, if I were bolder and, arguably, ruder and a little more hormonal at that place and time, I like to think I would’ve said the following: “Thank you for your concern. It really is hard. I panic sometimes thinking about how our lives are at the mercy of so many factors that are out of our control it’s terrifying. And I worry everyday about having enough money to do all the things we’ve both dreamed of. And I even get sick some days wondering how we can raise the family we want with a life like this. And my eyes water at the thought of ever having to say another long goodbye. And I’m scared about how to make the best decisions when we don’t know what will happen to us in five months, let alone five years. But, you know, I came into this relationship with my eyes wide open. And somewhere along this road filled with the fear and the unknown and the trials, I decided my husband and our relationship was worth all of it. So, as naïve as it may sound, I am positive that as long as we’re together we’ll always be okay. And when you believe that, the hard just doesn’t really matter too much.”
I might even have added “Good day!” at the end. Nice touch or too much? I never quite know.
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