It's been years since I last wrote in this blog, but I feel the need to write again and work through some frustrations, thoughts, feelings, etc. This is the space I've always done that in, so why not come back to it?
I struggle with feeling good enough sometimes. We all do, I know we do. I struggle the most when I'm playing pickleball. Sometimes I play great, to the best of my abilities. Other times, I play not poorly, but not my best, and my mindset sometimes quickly spirals downward. "They don't want to play with me." "People think I'm bad at this." "People don't like being my partner." "You're too fat to play." "People are disappointed in you." Stuff like that. It's stupid, I know. I wish I could overcome it. Yes, I've read The Inner Game of Tennis. Once those thoughts creep in, they don't want to come out. Today at league was one of those days. I actually played pretty well today, but still, the thoughts came. I feel like I get left out a lot, not asked to play or join leagues. I suppose the only thing I can do is improve my game, and to hell with the rest of it.
Oscar is 8 years old now. He is the best boy.
His baptism was a few weeks ago. It was a happy occasion, the kind of happiness that feels extra transcendental. Many family and friends showed up for us, which meant so, so much. Andy and the kids. The Taylors. The Zechs. The Browns. Kevin Olson. Jean. Daniel and his family. The Zarbocks. The Lakes. My parents and Jeff's. Jana and Winona. Michael. The Briggs. I'm sure I'm forgetting some others. But it was so wonderful. I felt heavenly beings there, including Papa and Grandma, which my dad agreed with me that they were there. If there's one thing I love, it's feeling the presence of my family who's come before me. Brave women especially.
Sarah Porter played the piano. Emily Farr played the guitar and sang "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus." Jeff, Oscar and I sang "When I Am Baptized." Oscar sang the first verse alone. He was so great. He had to go under twice since one of his big toes popped out of the water at the last second. Poor kid. I think that's all he will remember about that day, the trauma of having to be baptized twice.
Tom gave a nice talk about baptism. My dad gave a masterclass in the Holy Ghost, full of humor and testimony. He's mellowed out as he's gotten older, which I'm glad for.
Jeff and I argued a lot leading up to it. We were both stressed about managing our dad's moods (mostly Tom's, let's be real). Everything ended up just fine. I am working on convincing myself that I am not responsible for Tom's moods, and neither is Jeff's, and we don't need to walk on eggshells around him.
I have much more to write, but for now, this will be the end. Hopefully it won't be five years before I post again.
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