Owing to the unseasonably cold weather, my post ball plans had to change. I am now sitting in a beautiful little village straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting - one of the few Upstate NY towns I've seen that doesn't look like it's been in a decades long decline.
This town is the supposed birthplace of baseball - there are stores everywhere selling baseball stuff - the types of stores that don't exist anymore; the types of stores that were dying out when I was a kid and were gone by the time I was a teenager. I walk around this place and wonder when I'm going to see Shoeless Joe Jackson walk out like in Field of Dreams. Is it a bunch of marketing and overhyped tourist stuff? Sure. Is the Rockwell look a very intentional effort by the village? Absolutely. I know that. But my eight year old self is in heaven (to borrow from Field of Dreams, it isn't actually heaven. It's Upstate New York).
Friday and Saturday were Amanda's heaven, or as close as I've ever gotten. I stepped out there - my first time in public dressed. Scared to death yes, but excited and ready were the stronger emotions. It was everything I could have hoped for. I got to experience an extended period as Amanda. I got to interact with people for the first time. People went out of their way to make sure I felt safe and happy. I got to engage in so much interesting conversation - and make so many new friends. And I got to see a big benefit of dressing that I hadn't appreciated - at least certainly not to the extent I do now. Those of us who dress have a bond that others just can't understand. It creates a camaraderie that wouldn't exist otherwise. And that camaraderie (admittedly based on my brief experience) still seems to exist even as dressing fades into the background of the conversation. Dressing is of course always there, but conversations evolve and move to other topics. But the bigger thing is that relationships seem deeper, conversation seem more fun/meaningful. There's a bond there that's hard to explain in words, but you really feel it. It's really a wonderful thing.
Today, I spent the day driving through the country after my original plan fell through - up the Delaware River, through the rolling hills and mountains of Upstate New York to this little hamlet. Instead of dance music, it was bluegrass and rock. Instead of crowds of people, it was the mostly empty roads and me. Instead of the suburbs and city, it was rivers and farms.
And it was wonderful. But the thing is that both are wonderful. And I need both. We all need those things that fulfill us - that fill our cup if you will. Otherwise life becomes a drag (no pun intended) where one just goes through the motions to do what you have to do - to pay the bills, to fulfill your responsibilities, to just survive as opposed to living.
It's a simple point, it's an obvious point in hindsight (things are very often obvious in hindsight), but the implications of trying to live that way are profound. It really hit me as I was walking down Main Street in this Rockwell-esque looking town - an "aha moment" if you will. And all of a sudden I began to tear up. I had to sit down, and I shed a few tears, something I do only in very rare and highly emotional moments.
You can lose balance, you can lose the focus on what matters, so easily. I'm thankful to have my Amanda time and my eight year old me time. They both matter, and they are both necessary periodically. Thank you to the wonderful girls I met this weekend for helping remind me of that.
