My role at practice, along with three other members of the C squad, was to stand at the 50-yard line and wait. Wait until the offense faltered in any given drill; wait until the defense scooped up the ball and made their way out of the red zone; wait until they were able to make eye contact with me and 'connect' with the scrub (me) picking daisies at midfield; then catch the ball, turn around, and take a couple steps toward the opposite goal that stood unmanned and undefended. The whistle would blow, play would cease, I would send the ball back to the people actually at practice, and I would start waiting again.
In a way, my role of connector defined me as a freshman. I was awkward, husky, and at a certain point, really tired of waiting. My single sex high school education didn't set me up for success in the gender relations department. My sport demanding that I lift a lot of weights, party with Busch Light chugging heavy weights, and wear unflattering sweat clothes furthered my social undesirability. And I obviously wasn't burning off the Papa John's bread sticks I had consumed while waiting around at practice.
As a part of a team though, there was safety in numbers; we were all husky and awkward and oblivious, trying to figure out the difference between us as players and people. Trying to decipher the individual from the team. Freshman year, I veered from the person I had cultured over the past 18 years, and it didn't feel right.
In time, I came around. I worked hard on the field and graduated from connector to starter. I gave up beer and bread sticks for a trimmer waist and better clothes. I found myself in the classroom, at Mass, on the stage and in the ceramics studio. I shrunk in stature but grew in confidence. And people, other than my teammates took notice of my number and my name.
As I listened to United's updates this morning turning our short delay into a really long one, I thought about all the stuff I wrote up above. What success or validation means; and the people we try to impress to achieve it.
Back in college, I was so enamored when the Texan and the Forward chose me. For a dance. For a drink. For their spring fling. But that same night at Heartland, I missed dancing with my girl friends. I missed one of the silly stories they tell on repeat. I missed hanging out with the people that really cared. Who had loved me for who I was since Freshman year.
In the working world, it's not much different. Sometimes when you work so hard to impress the office, you become absent from the people at home. I love my job. And I love when my hard work gets recognized. But at the end of the day, and at the end of yet another week on the road, the one name I wanted to hear wasn't Lo. It was Mommy. And the one piece of recognition that I wanted to receive, wasn't awesome job, it was 'I love you.'
While it feels great to hear your name out loud and see it in lights, there is nothing better than coming home to the sound of 'MOMMY!' and receiving the big, long hug that follows it.
Lo.
In a way, my role of connector defined me as a freshman. I was awkward, husky, and at a certain point, really tired of waiting. My single sex high school education didn't set me up for success in the gender relations department. My sport demanding that I lift a lot of weights, party with Busch Light chugging heavy weights, and wear unflattering sweat clothes furthered my social undesirability. And I obviously wasn't burning off the Papa John's bread sticks I had consumed while waiting around at practice.
As a part of a team though, there was safety in numbers; we were all husky and awkward and oblivious, trying to figure out the difference between us as players and people. Trying to decipher the individual from the team. Freshman year, I veered from the person I had cultured over the past 18 years, and it didn't feel right.
In time, I came around. I worked hard on the field and graduated from connector to starter. I gave up beer and bread sticks for a trimmer waist and better clothes. I found myself in the classroom, at Mass, on the stage and in the ceramics studio. I shrunk in stature but grew in confidence. And people, other than my teammates took notice of my number and my name.
Senior year, I remember being at Heartland, a South Bend night club (and I use the term loosely), when THE guy on campus; my ultimate crush; approached me to dance. He knew my name. MY name. He flattered me. He bought me a drink. I was a goner. When a dumb blond (and I'm not using that term loosely) came between us, I retreated to the bar, sad that the fleeting moment had been interrupted. But when I turned around THE hockey player said, 'hey Lo, what do you want to drink?' He knew my name too. When did he learn my name? I was glowing. I felt like I was in a movie. I had been noticed - validated - approached (twice in one night!) - and it felt awesome.
***
The past couple weeks have been pretty great, scratch that awesome, at work. I unveiled some of my recent work to leadership and was rewarded with 'awesome job' accolades. I nailed a big presentation a couple days after that and was escorted off the floor to the sound of applause as one of the marketing VPs nudged me and whispered 'awesome job, Lo.' (Lo ... LO! She knew my name. I had no clue. It rang in my ears over and over again.)
My VP also pulled me aside to tell me he was impressed, I got a strong performance review, conquered another field visit on the West Coast, and celebrated my 34th birthday. I felt like it was my day, my week, my year. I felt like I had (finally) landed professionally. I loved hearing such positive associations with my name. And I flashed back to that time in college when the hot guys at the head of the class used my name for the first time.
My VP also pulled me aside to tell me he was impressed, I got a strong performance review, conquered another field visit on the West Coast, and celebrated my 34th birthday. I felt like it was my day, my week, my year. I felt like I had (finally) landed professionally. I loved hearing such positive associations with my name. And I flashed back to that time in college when the hot guys at the head of the class used my name for the first time.
Back in college, I was so enamored when the Texan and the Forward chose me. For a dance. For a drink. For their spring fling. But that same night at Heartland, I missed dancing with my girl friends. I missed one of the silly stories they tell on repeat. I missed hanging out with the people that really cared. Who had loved me for who I was since Freshman year.
In the working world, it's not much different. Sometimes when you work so hard to impress the office, you become absent from the people at home. I love my job. And I love when my hard work gets recognized. But at the end of the day, and at the end of yet another week on the road, the one name I wanted to hear wasn't Lo. It was Mommy. And the one piece of recognition that I wanted to receive, wasn't awesome job, it was 'I love you.'
While it feels great to hear your name out loud and see it in lights, there is nothing better than coming home to the sound of 'MOMMY!' and receiving the big, long hug that follows it.
Lo.
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