Peace on Ice.

This past Sunday, as ESPN reminded us over and over and over again, Yankee stadium hosted its last Major League Baseball game. Sometimes ESPN and the sports media makes a bigger deal out of things than they really are, but I admit, this is a big deal. Yankee stadium has hosted an unbelievable amount of historical events. Players upon players, teams upon teams have graced that field. Generations of fans have taken their seat and experienced the myriad of emotions that go along with loving a sports team.

What I would like to point out is that whether we live in New York or not, whether we are fans of baseball or not, we ALL have a Yankee Stadium. We all have a place, that sometimes feels more like home than the place we lay our head every night. The players on a team may be traded or grow old and retire. Coaches and GM's get fired. The uniforms may get a new, fresh look. Even the rules of the game may change over the year. But the building that houses all of this--that is a sacred place for sports fans and it doesn't have to be an infamous stadium in the most famous city in the world. It just has to be home. Mine is the Shark Tank.

Once when I was going through a rough period in my life, I was seeing a therapist. During one session, she asked me to close my eyes and think of a place where I was completely at peace. Instantly, my instincts took me 525 West Santa Clara Street. My reaction was how odd it was that when I was asked to go to the most peaceful place I knew, my mind immediately went to a building with a blaring sound system, fog horns, flashing lights and thousands of screaming fans. But that was it. That is peace to me. 14 years old, me and my dad, sitting in our season ticket seats in the upper level, with the guys with the smelly sandwiches sitting next to us. Watching Jeff Odgers get in front of the net. My dad screaming "Minus-9 Wayne!" to the Great One when the Kings were in town. Enter Sandman. The Sharks Head with steaming red eyes. The Chomp on Power Plays. The "Hey" song when we scored. That is my peace.

I've been lots of other hockey games in lots of other arenas and I enjoy them all. I've even been on the staff at the San Jose Arena and had the opportunity to see the game from every plausible angle in the Arena. I've even been so fortunate enough to cover a playoff game from the press box. None of it compares to being 14 years old, being there for every game with my pops with me, teaching me about the greatest sport on earth. For me, Yankee Stadium will never hold a candle to the Tank.

Water.

I love rainy days. There is something so refreshing, so peaceful. For me, the rain feels like a comforting blanket, reminding me there are clouds not too far off, some substance between me and an endless eternity of atmosphere and outer space

Today was a great rainy day. Here in the midwest, it rains quite a bit during the summer months. Something I was not used to in drought-ridden California. But the rain in the summer comes for a couple hours at a time, usually in the later afternoon/early evening when a thunderstorm or two rolls through. I love thunderstorms, too, but I don't consider those rainy days. Today, I woke up to gentle sprinkles and the smell of freshness outside. All day, it just kept sprinkling, soft rains, with intermittent strong down pours now and then. Steady, sure, water. Next to my window at work there is a creek that I love watching grow higher and higher as the rain continues.

The funny thing to me about rain is that it always reminds me of swimming (of all things.) I swam for years and years, and probably only rained about 10% of the days I swam. But for some reason, whenever I think about my happiest times at swim practice, I think of days just like this. I honestly don't know why. I just loved swimming in the rain. I can remember long days of school, making my way through giant puddles on the hilly campus at my high school--my jeans soaked up to my knees; hair all damp and curly from the wet. I'd sit in my sixth period journalism class just craving swim practice. It was as if the water was taunting me all day, not allowing me to be fully immersed yet and I couldn't wait to get to the pool. And for some reason, I always remember--rainy night practices never felt very tough. I know we swam the same amount of yardage and worked just hard, but for some reason, I always made my way through those practices with more ease than usual.

I like being reminded of how much I loved to swim. Sometimes I forget what a huge part of my life swimming was. So much of who I am now--many of my friends, even my family--revolved around swimming. I love that I swam and that my sister swam. I love that she swam longer and harder and better than I ever did. I'm very proud of her for that and I think she is a great person for all the effort she put into swimming.

I think anyone who participated in youth sports can relate to what I am saying. Whether yours was a swimming family, a soccer family, a hockey family, a baseball family, a judo family or a mixture of a whole bunch of sports--so much of our foundations are built during youth sports. I love, love, love that about youth sports. And I'm happy this rainy day reminded me of that.

Worry.

There are certain personality traits I possess that I often wish I could change, to reverse, or possibly just get rid of completely. I realize I am not unique in having this feeling, but sometimes it can be a very lonely sensation. When something is so ingrained in me, to the point where it no longer feels like something that I behold, but rather that I am contained within, it can be a desperate experience to attempt escape from the very personality that makes me who I am.

I am a worrier. I worry about absolutely everything. I worry about the little details in day-to-day life (is the front door locked? did I turn off the stove? did I set my alarm? is the cat getting a cold? am I sure the front door is locked? what order should I do my homework assignments in tonight? how much sleep can I get in tonight? what do I have to remember to do when I get into work tomorrow? do I need to stop for gas on the way to work? should i check the front door again to make sure it is locked? did I remember to feed the cats? wait, what time did I set the alarm for? ... and on and on and on.) I also worry about the bigger things, the less controllable things (will someone I love get in a car accident today? will there ever be enough money so I can stop thinking about money? what if I fail at this attempt to go back to school? what if my car breaks down? what if I lose my job? what if I get sick--really sick? what if I fail at my relationship? what if I never stop worrying?)

Worry is more than just fleating thoughts in my mind. Worry is my constant inner dialogue.

It's easy to say, "Just chill out. Stop worrying so much." People tell me this all the time and I tell myself this even more often. But the fact of the matter is telling myself to stop worrying is like telling someone to stop liking their favorite ice cream flavor or to stop enjoying their favorite song. It may be possible on the surface to act like you no longer like your favorite song, but deep down you can't change the way you feel about something on demand. I can act like I am not worried, sometimes I can even briefly convince myself that I am not actually worried, but it is only an act. Obsessing about the little details--planning and preparing for every possible circumstance--those are pseudo ways to feel slightly more in control of my life. I tell myself over and over again "Don't sweat the small stuff" but to no avail. I only end up feeling guilty for sweating the small stuff, and then worrying more about what is wrong with me that I can't force myself to stop sweating the small stuff. So I accept, over and over again, that worry is part of who I am.

I am so envious of those who don't worry every waking moment. Those who can go-with-the-flow without analyzing to death the possible repercussions. Those who can fall asleep within five minutes of their head hitting the pillow because they aren't kept awake by their own thoughts about the possibility of a fire starting in the middle of the night. Don't get me wrong--I don't look at these people and think their lives are any easier than mine. I realize each human being faces their own unique set of challenges. I do, however, look at these people and think that maybe they enjoy things in their life more than I do. So many times I will be experiencing something that should evoke only pure joy, yet that little voice in my brain will not allow me to really immerse myself fully in the experience. (This roller coaster is thrilling, but what if my seat restraint suddenly snaps? This movie is awesome, but what if I have to pee before the movie ends? This is a great concert, but what if we get stuck in traffic after the show? What a fun night out with my friends, but what if I am too tired to clean the house tomorrow?) I live in constant anticipation of what might be coming next. I'm never fully in the moment despite desperately wishing I could be.

Yes, there are medications for this and I have tried them out before. But how would you like a medication that shuts off the portion of your personality that likes your best friend or the part of your brain that tells you green is your favorite color? You would never want that portion of your personality shut off right? The fact of the matter is, having a portion of your personality eliminated (even a negative one) is a terrible sensation. Nothing fills up that missing part of you. There is just an emptiness there. A piece of myself that is gone. My personal choice is not to give up any part of me. This leaves me to deal with the reality that I will worry. I will worry every day, every hour, every minute (even in my sleep!)

Part of why I love sports so much is because the essence of sports is such a magical mixture of both planning and spontaneity. Players are drafted based on careful analysis, plays are drawn up based on extreme scrutiny of the opposition, back up plans are formed, and predictions of winners are made. But then they play the game. Then they run the race. And all the planning and preparation are tested and either proven right or they go down the drain. We watch hours and hours of analysts discussing the preseason rankings of teams and then the games are played and some team ranked 55th beats the number one seed. We discuss our fantasy football strategy for hours and the top quarterback in the league tears his ACL in the first game of the season. The greatest golfer in history is poised for his best season ever, and then goes down with a bum knee--but before winning a major tournament that everyone says he can't possibly win on a bum knee. What is expected to happen, what is "supposed" to happen, sometimes does happen. But the really compelling stories come about when what was never supposed to happen happens.

I love that about sports. I just wish I could love that about my own life. One of my favorite quotes of all time is, "We make plans, and God laughs." I'm not a very religious person, but the idea of this is so telling of every aspect of life. Planning, preparation, worry--those can only take me so far before reality takes over and does whatever the hell it wants.