I'm not at all disappointed that I'm too old to be doing stuff at midnight on a Wednesday. I like that I can, I'm glad to be in a city that offers it to me, and I may still do it occasionally. But, I have come to realize that sleeping is awesome and I like it way more than lots of other stuff. When given the option, more often that not, the better choice for me will be to sleep rather than stand in a crowded room of hot, questionably bathed people bent on bumping into me, and badly singing the tunes I was hoping to listen to the band play. Also, stop putting sticky paper wristbands on me! I'm too old for that crap. Revelation Number 1.
[As a sub-set of this revelation I'll reiterate that night baseball is puzzling. I still enjoy the games, but I'm stuck on the idea that baseball should be played in the sun. You don't get sleepy at the end of a day game. Just sayin'.]
The second revelation comes from something I've been mulling for some time: I don't want to win. I am so, so, so argumentative (read that as "rabid") about some things that some who know me might think that impossible. But it's not. It has struck me that I do not, not at all, want everyone to agree with me. Think about it: What if you won and everyone was a Republican? What if everyone was a Rangers fan or a vegan? What if every single person on the planet threw in the towel and said - 'OK. Jesus. Right on. I'm all in!' I would have no friends with differing opinions, there would be no Jews or monks or Muslims, no fun in sports rivalry, no one to learn anything new from. Can you imagine it? Yuck! The world would be a boring, terrible place. So Revelation Number 2 is I'm not just glad for our differences in theory. I am deeply glad, truly, for everyone who thinks differently than I do.
The third revelation should belong to my husband and children, which is: Revelation Number 2 does not apply to you. That is all.
The fourth? Anyone who is not a Cub fan, I'm looking right at you, Michael: Number 2 does not apply to you, either.
And finally: I want to live, which is a revelation only insofar as I've now articulated it to myself. This one goes in hand-in-hand with the first two. I've spent a lot of my life focusing on the micro - this argument, this moment, winning this battle. And I've insisted to myself against any doubt that all those little bits were important and I needed to stay there and dig there to make stand. I'll cede that those moments belonged to those moments and they brought me here, so they were all valid in their time. But now, I find it so much less necessary to battle than to relax a bit and enjoy what I can of the day without war. Of course, if I can effect a change for the better by my work, I will, no question. The shove against the wall, however, seems less important to me. I'd rather turn the corner and find the sun.
It might be a perfect day for baseball.
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