Paul and I and our friend John just hosted tryouts for Del Sol. The process of picking the team, and the players' responses to getting cut, accepted, or offered a practice player role are restoring my faith in humanity. Such humility and graciousness. I'm sure that there are people sad or maybe even offended about getting cut, but they haven't communicated that. I have only heard perfect responses:
"Thank you so much for the opportunity I am beyond honored right now."
"Thank you so much for the opportunity"
"Thank so much for considering me and extending the offer."
"very awesome. I am excited to try to improve and help out del sol in practice."
"Thank you for the opportunity... I look forward to helping make the team better by bringing a high level of intensity and focus to practice each night."
(someone who picked a different team): " I love Del Sol's level of competition and the changes you guys have made to start the new season... Thanks again for the consideration.. I will be rooting for you guys at sectionals and regionals."
"WHOOOOOOHOOOOO!"
"It's exciting to compete with the best teams in our region and continue improving as a player."
"I humbly accept the invitation to play on Del Sol and I greatly appreciate the opportunity to better myself as a player and add to the teams success and their goal to earn a bid to nationals. I look forward to this club season and thank you again for the chance of playing with you."
"Thank you so much for this opportunity. I am extremely excited about Tuesday! Your team truly strikes me as an intense, spirited team (my favorite)!"
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Some thoughts that you may or may not be interested to read (boring: read at your own risk).
It's a funny thing to be in the stage of life that I have reached. I feel like I have actually done things with my life now. I've loved and lost, and found my partner. Now I find myself planning a wedding. I've worked and quit, and found a nice steady job for the long haul. Now I find myself investing in stock and shopping for curtains. I've lived with my parents, in dorms, in apartments, with roommates, with myself, with my boyfriend, and now I am living where I will stay. It's hard to make someone else's house your own. I still find myself referring to this place as "Paul's house." I know that it's mine now too. Old habits die hard.
My parents are moving. Not very far, about 20 minutes away, but being as sentimental as I am, it bothers me. They built that house. I remember when the foundation was laid, when they inserted drywall, installed the skylights. My room has always been my room, ever since it has existed. I still remember at 8 years old, waking up the first morning there, being panicked, and then remembering... oh yeah... this is home now :)
When I go back home to visit, I won't be going home anymore... I'll be going to some random house where my parents live. All the memories in that place... playing with stuffed animals with my brother, playing in the yard with my cousins, sitting in the patio reading, learning to cook with my dad, sitting on my parents' bed as my mom does my hair in the morning. Tons of birthday parties, Christmas parties, hanging out with my friends, watching movies until late into the night. Laying on my bed, unable to sleep, feeling the strongest emotions. I'll never see the inside of that house ever again.
I realize that even though it is a house, once a home, it is still just a thing - an object of the material world. I have no right to be attached to it.
But oh the memories... I can't help but be sad, very sad that it is gone. I spent 15 years of my life there. The molding years. The years of greatest polarization in emotions. It aches my heart to write all of this. How can they just sell it, I ask myself. Because they are not me.
The new house is great, they say. It's beautiful. I believe it. But it's not home.
I watched the Lord of the Rings series not too long ago. The hobbits begin in The Shire, their native land. They leave, they go on a quest, and they see many interesting, amazing, terrifying things. They almost die; they become heroes; they meet people, form friendships, and ultimately (SPOILER ALERT), they win. Throughout all of this, though, they never forget their home. Perhaps they began the quest to follow each other, or to have an adventure, but they ended so that they could go back home. To the safe, peaceful Shire, where they grew up and where they belong.
I feel like Florida is my Shire. Every time I go back, I am reminded of how much that place is home to me. I crave the humidity, the long St. Augustine grass, the Atlantic lifestyle, the thunderstorms, the beach, the tropical vegetation, and yes, even the critters. All 5 years here in Phoenix, I have missed it. The desert often still feels like an alien land to me. It can be very nice out, but it just doesn't feel right... where is the water? There is obviously something missing.
I try to make it home. It takes time to change where you are from. I am far from changed. But I have to wonder how much of that is due to the house in which I grew up. I suppose I will find out, whether I like it or not.
I am getting married, and I am staying in Phoenix (technically Tempe). It's hard to let go of the past, of your Shire. But who knows what the future holds. I am certainly happy here. Maybe someday it will truly feel like home.
It's a funny thing to be in the stage of life that I have reached. I feel like I have actually done things with my life now. I've loved and lost, and found my partner. Now I find myself planning a wedding. I've worked and quit, and found a nice steady job for the long haul. Now I find myself investing in stock and shopping for curtains. I've lived with my parents, in dorms, in apartments, with roommates, with myself, with my boyfriend, and now I am living where I will stay. It's hard to make someone else's house your own. I still find myself referring to this place as "Paul's house." I know that it's mine now too. Old habits die hard.
My parents are moving. Not very far, about 20 minutes away, but being as sentimental as I am, it bothers me. They built that house. I remember when the foundation was laid, when they inserted drywall, installed the skylights. My room has always been my room, ever since it has existed. I still remember at 8 years old, waking up the first morning there, being panicked, and then remembering... oh yeah... this is home now :)
When I go back home to visit, I won't be going home anymore... I'll be going to some random house where my parents live. All the memories in that place... playing with stuffed animals with my brother, playing in the yard with my cousins, sitting in the patio reading, learning to cook with my dad, sitting on my parents' bed as my mom does my hair in the morning. Tons of birthday parties, Christmas parties, hanging out with my friends, watching movies until late into the night. Laying on my bed, unable to sleep, feeling the strongest emotions. I'll never see the inside of that house ever again.
I realize that even though it is a house, once a home, it is still just a thing - an object of the material world. I have no right to be attached to it.
But oh the memories... I can't help but be sad, very sad that it is gone. I spent 15 years of my life there. The molding years. The years of greatest polarization in emotions. It aches my heart to write all of this. How can they just sell it, I ask myself. Because they are not me.
The new house is great, they say. It's beautiful. I believe it. But it's not home.
I watched the Lord of the Rings series not too long ago. The hobbits begin in The Shire, their native land. They leave, they go on a quest, and they see many interesting, amazing, terrifying things. They almost die; they become heroes; they meet people, form friendships, and ultimately (SPOILER ALERT), they win. Throughout all of this, though, they never forget their home. Perhaps they began the quest to follow each other, or to have an adventure, but they ended so that they could go back home. To the safe, peaceful Shire, where they grew up and where they belong.
I feel like Florida is my Shire. Every time I go back, I am reminded of how much that place is home to me. I crave the humidity, the long St. Augustine grass, the Atlantic lifestyle, the thunderstorms, the beach, the tropical vegetation, and yes, even the critters. All 5 years here in Phoenix, I have missed it. The desert often still feels like an alien land to me. It can be very nice out, but it just doesn't feel right... where is the water? There is obviously something missing.
I try to make it home. It takes time to change where you are from. I am far from changed. But I have to wonder how much of that is due to the house in which I grew up. I suppose I will find out, whether I like it or not.
I am getting married, and I am staying in Phoenix (technically Tempe). It's hard to let go of the past, of your Shire. But who knows what the future holds. I am certainly happy here. Maybe someday it will truly feel like home.
