Make It Fun

 

No respect for Rodney

Today was a bad day.

No other way to put it.

I had a rather volcanic eruption that, as I've alluded to, embarrasses me when it happens.

Yet, it was cathartic and perhaps needed.

But I took the steps to cool off and get back in the right head space.

Then I started heading towards home.

That's when I took note of the scenery (yes, I was still driving safely).

The hills and mountains off in the distance.

The light towers of the baseball stadium through the trees.

The sky -- though threatening -- was still something to behold.

It's all supposed to be fun.

Life and baseball and everything else.

But, before that, it wasn't. It was tense and nitpicking and micromanaging.

None of this is rocket science. None.

But, of course, everyone wants to do a good job.

Heck, we all want to be perfect but, come on. It's not possible.

Just be the best version of us that we can be.

But sometimes the message is so completely missed. 

So cooler heads eventually prevailed. 

One can only feel like Rodney Dangerfield so many times.

But, with friends, conversation, and humor, the ice melted. 

And then you're in the car, on the road, taking in the splendor of a Sunday afternoon.

As furious as I was. As finished as I felt. Truly demoralized.

I mean, there's a bit of stress right now and this just isn't necessary.

But I could enjoy the vision of the Hudson Valley on Interstate 84.

At least until the rain started. Yet that just seemed like a reminder of the work of Longfellow's 1842 poem "The Rainy Day."

"Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary."

Then I began wishing for something to listen to that would make the drive move a little faster.

There was still dinner to pick up before getting home.

A new day -- a new week -- awaits tomorrow. We dust ourselves off and move forward. As always.

I'm home now.