I worked all season talking with counselors and friends with the same issues as me to gain control of my control issue problem. I had it all worked out and then September came. Playoffs? no playoffs? Pack a suitcase? Pack a house? There are just too many variables determining my life for the next few weeks. I need preparation. I need to mentally get ready for what comes next. I need control. I think this is some sick joke God is playing on me.
The months February, March, and September are not good months for me. I lose my mind. In fact in October I always look back and think, "who was that girl"?
I am a wedding planner or I was. The entire nature of the name requires control. I am the person who has it all planned out. I thrive in leadership. When a bride doesn't get her way on her big day and the weather isn't cooperating I am your girl. I know the right things to say. I know how to make you feel like you are the only bride that could ever look beautiful in the rain and that really the rain is a sign of good luck. When it comes to unpredictable, uncontrollable weather in my own life; I am really just a mess.
I must have learned this about myself in middle school. When you really shouldn't know anything about yourself in the first place. In middle school I battled through an eating disorder. I really don't like to call it that. It was really as simple as this. I wanted to be a model. I was a model. In middle school and high school. I thought I was fat. I skipped meals. I skipped more meals. My stomach shrank but the hole in my stomach got bigger. I needed control. In middle school you can't control your acne breakouts or your year book picture or the boys that like you or who your parents are and for that matter who you are. But I thought I could control what I ate and therefore how much I weighed. I gave myself a goal. I reached that goal. I gave myself a new goal and met it. As stupid as I was, I really think I was quite the over achiever.
I outgrew my need for control in middle school and high school in the form of what some people might call anorexia. Thankfully. It was uncomfortable and too much too keep up with. It manafested itself in different forms of life and still does today. The fact that I married Robbie who happens to be a baseball player which happens to mean I surrender total control of my life to the sport is funny unless it is the months of February, March, or September. These are moving months. Moving isn't really a big deal unless you are me and moving isn't really moving like a typical person moves. You don't just throw everything you own into boxes, pick a house and un throw all of the crap you own into a simular place as before... No. It means you pick what you think you might need for the season and you leave the rest. And then you bring too much or you leave too much. You buy doubles of almost everything. And if you are married to Robbie you fight for ten hours about buying the cheap stuff that will break in ten days and end up spending more money on the not so cheap stuff that will last at least a year. Are you following? You own containers and not boxes. You pay bochoos of money on shipping expenses to get from Ky to Az to Texas to Ky again.
In February your life is sad and happy. You are ready for baseball and so excited for the season but you are also depressed. You hate leaving your family and friends and your house with all of the real stuff you love. And you leave confused as to why you even call that place home because you spend more time living in the baseball state then you do your home state. And you go into spring training with an attitude. This attitude goes like this: 6 weeks is really too long of a time to live out of a suitcase but too short of a time to unpack everything. And because there's no owners manual to tell you what smart decisions to make you end up with an attitude. You have to pull the "baseball card" almost everywhere you go. Because unless you want people to think you are a criminal running from the law or a gypsy there is really no other way to explain why you live in Az but you don't really live there and why you only need an apartment for 6 weeks. I found out that saying, "I am a snowbird" doesn't really work unless you are 65 years or older. I tend to say we are gypsies but this embarrasses Robbie so "baseball card" it is.
In March you are really just excited to start real games, and get in your real home away from home for the next six months but getting three dogs, a house full of crap and furniture is really hard to do by yourself. So this is when I claim the identity, I am a single wife. I can't say single mom yet because aparrently dogs don't count as children. So I am a single wife... moving loads of stuff from Az to Texas, two cars, three dogs, and pitiful single self. In which case I make half my family come help me because in all honesty I can't do it alone. During this time it is also Easter, and opening day, and Spring break so that adds an extra load of laundry to the mix. You might be wondering where my husband is at this time and why he isn't helping? I am wondering the same thing. Some people call it exhibition games. I really wouldn't know because I am not there to witness them. It has something to do with baseball.
September. September for me is really the worst. I have the least control. To pack a suitcase or a house? By this time we really just want September to be over. Play offs or not I just want to know what my life will look like in a week. First World Problems, I know. So I walk around making all these lists of things to pack, how to pack, how to unpack... All to make my life easier. Really it is just to distract me from the big question. Are we going to playoffs or not?
Because if we are then great, lets go! But if not. Could we just go ahead and lose already so that me and the rest of the Rangers loving world could relax for one second. This really is the worst attitude I could possibly have. I realize that.
In the wee hours before a wedding, when a bride has a Major minor melt down because the rose petals came in hot pink and not bright pink, I am only able to see the light because it is not my wedding. I can talk her off the ledge because I realize the color of the rose petals is not what everyone is looking at. Everyone is looking at her. And the groom. But mostly at her. And the beauty of love that brings us together. Everyone is just happy to be sharing in a major part of two peoples lives. But she doesn't get that. She doesn't see the big picture.
I am the bride in this situation. While I sit at home making my lists on packing and unpacking... I am missing out on the ceremony... or the game... Or in the big scheme of things life. I mean I have been to enough games so it doesn't really matter if I miss one or two or ten of them. But the point is the need to control is controlling me. I am the one playing a sick joke on myself. I can't control play offs or baseball. I can't even control much about my own life at all. I can only control how I handle it. And instead of running from the problem. Which is what I did in middle school. I ran. I told myself that modeling was the problem. It wasn't good for me. The truth is I wasn't good for me. I am only able to figure this out because I can't run from baseball. I can't hide from it because baseball equals Robbie. And I told Robbie I would stand behind him in good times and in baseball on our wedding day. So this great sport might have taught me a thing or two. I can't control the outcome. I can only LIVE OUT LOUD and hope for the best.
Control issues stem from fear. Or so I have been told by well meaning professionals. My need for control stems from fear. Fear of failure and fear of the unknown. But I can work through these issues by writing them down and sharing them. By telling my friends in advance to forgive me for the months Febrauray, March and September. And by writing really long run on sentences in the form of a blog and sharing them with you. There is something freeing about letting it all hang out. And so with five games left in the season, I will walk into the field uncontrolled and fearless. Even though deep down all I want to do is crush the Angels and experience the play offs. And the second thing I want to do is hire someone to pack up my home for me. I will be fearless because the most obvious piece of advice I can give myself is this: "Brittany, even though you say things like my team, and our agent called me, and we are going to play offs, you are actually not on the team. And you can not control any of this. You control less than the actual players control and they have a jersey on. So sit down and pull yourself together. Because freaking out and making lists is a waste. What you need to do is LIVE OUT LOUD". This September will mark the first September in five years I end a season uncontrollably fearless. I don't know why it has taken me this long to figure it out. I might not have even figured it out enough to make things go smoothly.. Just enough to make it sound like I can do it in this blog. I will let you know Oct. 1st. But for now I am LIVING OUT LOUD. You should too. September wont last long.
HE>i
xoxox
B
P.S. I really tried this time with the spelling. I didn't ignore all of the red squiggly lines under all my words but I really cant make any promises. I talk in thoughts. So I write in thoughts too. Sentences are pretty overrated. And because I am fearlessly giving up control for me to go back and re read this entire thing and try to make it perfect would just be too controlling. I am sure you see my point.
b
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