Learning to Live Intentionally
Sharing a bathroom with 5 other people is less than ideal but Brian was playing great, we would be moving soon. An air conditioner that didn’t get cooler that 75 on it’s best day didn’t phase me because surely Brian would get the call and we’d be on our way up and out. Every time my makeshift Walmart hanging wardrobe and blackout curtains fell I didn’t care because it was temporary.
Nearly two years later, I am still here. I wasted months shoving my needs to the back while I waited by the phone to hear from Brian about our next move. I was in denial about my reality and I was proud of my threshold for discomfort. Why? I wanted the world to see me as competent. Complaining, moving out, demanding the AC be repaired would mean raising a white flag to my situation. And besides, it’s all part of the “minor league experience” so my suffering seemed to be a right of passage.
This post is to my friends in the trenches of displacement. Do you ever find yourself in over your head, too afraid to ask for help? That’s where I found myself last July. Brian found out he was injured and the reality began to sink in that we would stay in Florida for an unforeseen amount of time. My mind started to crumble because I realized I missed a huge opportunity to create community. Our baseball friends would go home and enjoy their offseason and we were left with no one.
Don’t get me wrong, some of my lifelong friends were created out of sharing that bathroom. But I never went deeper than hellos at church. I didn’t care about investing in my neighbors. If “home is what you make it” then do what it takes to make your house a home. I’ve heard arguments of packing light and I agree. I don’t bring very many clothes with me but I do bring a small box of framed pictures and my Nespresso maker.
I’m realizing the stuff I bring doesn’t make me feel as at home as a neighbor who knows my name. Brian’s injury forced us to push pause and look around. Seeing your circumstances as a means to an end makes everyone in your life an object instead of laying the foundations of friendship.
This isn’t exclusive to your home. Maybe it’s just me, but the baseball season bubble often leaves me feeling misunderstood. I miss my sisters and “my people” in Nashville. Guess who else does, every girl in the stands. So instead of sulking as if no one here understands you or you have nothing in common with your fellow WAG, invest in her life. The baseball community gets smaller every year and these are the people who understand your hopes and fears more than anyone.
One of my favorites things to do is gather around a patio table I bought from Goodwill for $20 with my Walmart plates. It’s not the Pinterest dinner party I expected for my newlywed life, but it’s home. It feels like a family dinner although we are all so different. From New York to California we cover every region and background. But we aren’t okay with having roommates solely to lower our rent. We are learning to love each other like family and it all started with sharing a bathroom.
Life is too short to spend the season wishing you were somewhere else. I did, and I missed a bit of joy the season had to offer. It’s our man’s job to move up but it’s our job to help him enjoy the journey. Don’t let wanting so much for them steal your joy of today. Set the table like you’re at home and invite friends over for dinner. Knock on your neighbor’s door and introduce yourself. As transient as baseball feels, its our life. Being intentional during baseball season is a lesson that can penetrate every area of life.
Be where your feet are.
