Bigger message attached. Guaranteed.
I severely dislike to see my son’s team lose. (I try not to say “hate”...) And, well, they lost this weekend. To a much (MUCH) more refined team. So, it’s not as hard to swallow knowing the caliber of opposition was, probably, impeccable. Probably. But. And. Also. The kids are 10 and 11 years old. Another reason to accept a loss...simply as being important in character development. The great American sage/lyricist Steven Tyler wrote, “Everybody’s got the dues in life to pay...you have to lose to know how to win...”
But. If I could’ve, I would've. Helped them win. Or Hell. Won it for them.
It wasn’t all about the Bengals winning to augment my son’s bragging rights. Some of it was my own ego. Actually, probably more than some. Most. Okay.
Goes back to my own messed-up dysfunctional childhood (...yeah yeah. Everyone has one of the those...or at least elements of one...”Cry me a river, Kim...”)
Back to the story.
I’m the parent on the sidelines with the cowbell. The tambourine. The amp with a fully-loaded playlist intended to BOOST any mood/energy wafting off the field (players and parents).
And. Uh. A mascot costume.
All of the above which are supposed to improve our chances of the win.
ESPECIALLY this game.
ESPECIALLY because the G-Men are the ONLY team that has beaten the Bengals in the past (not just by a little...not just ‘beaten’...a complete shut-out. DAMN. Trampled. BAD.)
Well. Let’s just say the music helped the boys energy (...they were dancing on the sideline.) And, “Champ” got ‘em excited with his terrific dancing to “Eye of the Tiger”. And, this mama made a big bunch of noise with her God given ability to project her voice...(“TAKE IT TO THE BUS, BOYS!” “WE LOVE YOU BOYS!” “WAY TO GO #10 YOU BIG STUD!! etc...)
The Bengals...well...they....uh...didn’t win.
Even though, I really had no expectations that they WOULD win against the G-Men (...no team in our league has...) I had hoped they would score. Or at least make it a little challenging for the G-Men.
Shit. Boys come off the field after the game and they are FINE. Totally excited for sleepovers...”Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom...Can I spend the night at M’s house...it’s his birthday? K and B and A and E are all going....PLEASE?!!” Seriously?? I’m thinking, “...don’t they wanna wallow a little bit? What the HELL?...”
Yeah. So. I guess I take it upon myself to absorb the teams lack of emotions regarding their defeat. “Where are the tears? The tantrums? The Anger?”
I am: Raging. Pissed. Frowny faced. And. Fully aware of my irrationality.
(By the way, that’s the Witness. The unbiased Self (big “S”) sitting back watching my self (little “s”) make a complete spectacle (...aka...ass) out of me.)
To be clear, just cuz I’m aware of my actions does NOT mean I will change them. At least...right then.
It will be a program. Like Twelve-Steps. My addiction isn’t pharmaceutical...it’s natur-ological or nurtur-ological...and probably harder to kick than any substance being abused.
I call it “Passion Fire”.
It’s wired in me. I’m not dangerous (but, some would say I can be pretty scary.) I’m not mean (never intentionally, anyway...) And. If you know me for any length of time, you will (that’s a promise) witness it. At least once. And. Chances are, you won’t be the cause or even the center...just a witness. Later. I will apologize.
And. Likely write about the revelation that came of my “tornado”.
“...And then there’s you and me, who, when faced with an insoluble problem, bang against the walls, go for a walk, and have a brilliant insight--the book’s structure , the company’s organizing principles, the way out of the emotional tangle. These epiphanies arise seemingly out of nowhere, as if your mind were a slow computer and you had been entering your data and waiting for it to self-organize.
“When the great will opens inside you, it’s like going through the door that leads beyond limitation. The power you discover in such moments has an easeful inevitability about it, and your moves and words are natural and right. You wonder why you didn’t just let go in the first place. Then, like a surfer on a wave, you let the energy take you where it knows you’re meant to go.” - Sally Kempton, “Get Carried Away”, Yoga Journal, March 2007
Inspiration hits me (usually like a metaphorical baseball bat to the face...) through my unfortunate tendency of pissing people off.
Ironically, some consider it a talent. There are people who work really hard at making people mad and still are not as successful as, well...as I am. Take, for instance, MMA fighters...
[insert frustrated face here]
Always one to see the glass as half-full, let me amend the above with: “It’s all good! Cuz I then get to spend the next indefinite number of hours/days/weeks/months breaking it down...(minute by minute, word by word, expression by expression...) at long last extricating an amazing bit/morsel/tidbit of truth that I otherwise would have NEVER found.”
Catch me on a good day (having had the epiphany...) and I will tell you all about it. Or. Join me in class and my own journey of self-discovery via theming and asana practice...on my WAY to the truth.
Sally Kempton’s article was lying open (randomly...) on my table yesterday (yes, I keep decades worth of Yoga Journal’s scattered throughout my house). “Timely” is just one word to describe it. “Divine Providence” works, too.
Her article was about surrendering...(unlike my aforementioned talent...), not something I do easily. Or well....um. Or at all.
Most of the time.
She describes the difference between surrender and giving in. Which is good. Even as I witnessed myself reacting to the loss of the game, I was aware there was NOTHING I could have done to control, affect, or change it (the game, not my reaction...at the time, anyway...) that I just needed to vent. Get the passion fire out of my system. Exhaust myself. Whatever you want to call it. It always works itself out eventually.
And. When the storm subsides.
I find a pearl. Amidst the wreckage and debris lies pricelessness.
Surrender is not giving in. It is accepting (and knowing) what is beyond my control. And, sometimes, it means to simply open to Grace.
Or “just punt”, as my husband, the coach, likes to say.
Ultimately leave it up to the will of the Supreme.
This is how I make a blog referencing football sacred. I bring God into it.
End of bigger message.