Let’s play the metaphor game.
Forrest Gump reminded us that life is like a box of chocolates.
Oz in American Pie told us third base feels like warm apple pie.
Well, right now, I feel a little like I am trying to play tennis with life.
[The other day, I played about an hour of tennis with The Owl. I learned a few things. One: I can still totally serve. Not quite at the extent I was able to “back in the day,” but effectively. Two: I suck. I used to be good-ish. I need to practice and get better so I can kick some tennis ass.]
As you’ve probably read in the past months, I am moving across the country in a short time. I am rightfully scared out of my damn mind and also excited as hell. There’s a volley in my brain every other minute between excitement and fear about the whole thing. Figuratively speaking, of course.
Also, I tend to have a thing about control.
So feeling up in the air with my emotions flying all around hasn’t been that awesome. I’ve been practicing so I can get better at this, as well. I’ve been asking for help where I can and giving myself tasks to complete in order to feel better prepared for this pretty gigantic life change.
I’m leaving myself room to get slammed in the face with emotions like sadness, anger, frustration, and hurt (to add to the excitement and fear, naturally) over the last few days before I load myself and Gizmo into the car for Great American Road Trip: Part 1 – which, will be an entire blog series of stories about all the places we stop, all the things we see, and all the mischief we will in which we will inevitably find ourselves knee-deep.
[As a child, I took tennis lessons for a short time. I don’t know if I made it more than 3 or 4 lessons, but I do remember learning to stand with both hands on my racket with the whole thing in front of my face. The goal was to work on my hand-eye coordination and to swat tennis balls away as they flew toward my face – probably very slowly.]
I don’t think that skill will be effective for the emotional onslaught I am expecting to tidal wave into me.
Don’t get me wrong. With the exception of a few things [people] holding me back, I am really fucking excited for this. I am psyched to road trip the country. I am ready to start a new chapter of my life and I am ready to end Chapter: Florida. I’ll be back. A number of times. A large part of who I am is because of my time in Florida, but a bigger part of who I am is because of my parents. The chance to realign my life with theirs makes me happy in a way I can’t properly express. Though it only narrowly edges out my sadness and worry about the few things [people] I am going to probably see a lot less of.
But playing tennis with life is like playing tennis with a wall. The ball keeps coming back no matter how hard or accurate or artful your last swing. Life isn’t just going to look at the ball landing just inside the line and say “Wow! THAT was a great serve. You know what? You win! You’re officially in control of everything in your life. Good game, man!”
No matter how perfectly I orchestrate my move, my road trip, my time in Chicago, or my plans for Arizona, life is going to keep throwing the ball back at me to keep the volley going.
Which I am certain is better than the alternative. But I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t use a break between sets.