Belted, deep to left field, awayyy back and gone!
She sat alone in her otherwise quiet apartment, watching yet another clip from last year's baseball season. Her team had done well -- they'd played far into October, even though they didn't make it all the way to the World Series. Spring Training had just begun but Opening Day was still forty-something days away.
Not that she was counting.
(She was definitely counting.)
She was the kind of fan that wore sweatshirts emblazoned with sayings like There are only two season: winter and baseball or You're killing me, Smalls. Her favorite movies were Major League and A League of Their Own and Moneyball. She was equally as happy being at the ballpark or listening to the game on the radio. She was a purist in this way -- the TV broadcasters were lazy, in her opinion. The radio team had to be able to bring the game to life in a way that only being there in person could duplicate. She'd sometimes go for long walks with the radio broadcast streaming through an app on her phone and even if she was miles away from where the action was taking place, she always felt like she was right there.
Nothing fueled her like being a baseball fan. Nothing had better connected her to her community, her network of I truly see you people than baseball. From the start of Spring Training every February through sometimes early November when a World Series victor emerged, she felt balanced and centered and focused. Baseball anchored her in her world and infused her with an energy that really faltered from post-World Series November through the middle of February when her ability to hook back into her baseball network re-emerged.
She loved this sport with a passion that felt nearly inexplicable. She'd never been very good at playing baseball or softball, though she'd clumsily made her way through a few games here and there. It wasn't that she had that tactile connection to what it felt like to be there on the field, the adrenaline of hitting the game-winner or the sense of responsibility that goes along with a missed catch, but even so, baseball filled her entire being with a joy that she didn't experience in her everyday life.
The bleakness of winter only compounded her sense of dread that flitted in and out of her awareness during the offseason.
That's not to say that when baseball season started back up that she was flipping a switch from black and white grimness to vibrant, unstoppable 24/7 joy -- but baseball helped recalibrate her more than therapy or yoga or any other mindfulness trick she'd tried.
Baseball was her lifeline out to the world.
When the season went dark, she simply felt more alone.
That's not to say she was totally alone -- she was just more alone. She had amassed a wide circle of baseball pals who were zealots like she was -- and while they sometimes checked in on each other during the offseason, it just wasn't as frequently or as connecting as it was once baseball rolled back around.
So she soothed herself by watching highlight clips from the most recent season or past seasons, historic moments and the like. It amazed her how some of these game-winning moments still made her cry, even after seeing them a hundred times, knowing exactly how it all turned out. Her emotional reactiveness only deepened her connection to herself -- she'd watch a clip of a game-winning moment and it would transport her back to where she was when that scene had played out in real time. She'd close her eyes and remember how elated she was, how energized, how happy she was. She'd remember the hugs or the high fives from when those moments happened in the company of others and she'd remember her phone pinging with excited text messages.
She'd really bask in the re-living of those moments. They, in so many ways, filled up her hope-center, her joy-center, her energetic-center.
Yet, it was also true that many people in her everyday life had no idea she even liked baseball, let alone loved it.
In her everyday life, she worked in advocacy and policy and education. She held space for people dealing with a crisis that they wanted to resolve through systemic change. She was an activist and a writer and a champion for the communities she worked with and the advocacy she did on their behalf. Some of the people she worked with had known her for years and had no idea how important baseball was to her.
Frankly, it's because they never asked.
While she listened to them and worked on their behalf and generated programs and projects and events based on their feedback, so few of them had ever asked her what kind of music she liked or did she have a dog or did she enjoy cooking or what's her ideal vacation. They didn't know how many siblings she had or if her parents were still together or if she was married or if she had children.
They knew what they seemed to need to know about her: where she went to school and what skills she had that could suit their purposes and drive their agendas forward.
Even after years of being very successful in this industry, working with both colleagues and volunteers on regular basis, there was a failure to connect beyond the surface of what brought them into each other's lives in the first place.
And in the very infrequent moment when someone did learn something personal about her, like the fact that she was a massive baseball fan, at least half the time, that person would wrinkle their nose and say, "Baseball is so boring, no thanks."
It was always just that much harder after a remark like that for her respect someone who'd express such an unkindness.
She couldn't tell you why she'd fallen so in love baseball, but she could tell you that the sting of unnecessary commentary about something she'd just confessed was incredibly important to her damaged relationships.
Now in the quiet space, just forty-something odd days away from Opening Day, she scrolled through Twitter, turning the sound way up on the video highlights from season's past as texts from her baseball-season friends started gradually to populate her inbox.
So close, she murmured to herself as she watched another mobbing at home plate.
So close. So close. So close.
Just forty-something odd days until she could return to being fully alive.
First line by Landon Wolf
2023
Virtual Tip Jar: Venmo @sarahwolfstar
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