In a league of my own

Sometimes, life will throw you a curveball.

Other times, you’re lost in left field while being pummeled by the other team with dozens of baseballs and tennis balls and bowling balls from each and every direction.

Now, I know very little – if anything – about the rules of baseball, but I’m pretty sure the latter scenario breaks at least a couple of them.

Unfortunately, life doesn’t care about the rules.

To quote my 13-year-old self: “Life isn’t fair.”

And to quote my mother’s response: “Who said life was fair? They lied to you.”

Recently, I’ve had to deal with a plethora of issues that are out of my control: My husband injuring his knee and him temporarily becoming somewhat immobile, our dog getting a nasty and painful ear infection and the subsequent costly veterinary expenses, one of our cars breaking down, the very real possibility of our other car breaking down, essentially being forced to ignore my mental health while I try to solve all of these problems, etc., etc., etc. The list goes on for a very long time.

Occasionally I’ll sob into my pillow late at night after I come home from work, and I’m left asking myself, “Why is this happening to me?” and “Why is it happening all at once?”

And I think Thelma and Louise must have felt the same way right before (spoiler alert) Louise put the pedal to the metal and drove the two of them off that cliff.

But then – after my husband and a puppy or two (and sometimes a grumpy, old cat) come to my rescue and remind me that things aren’t really that bad – I realize I should be thinking about a different Geena Davis movie.

Because life is supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.

After all, there’s no crying in baseball.

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