Options

Growin' Up

When I was in grad school, I also had a job.  At that most ridiculous of all rituals, The Annual Review, my boss and I discussed the possibility that I would make the leap and become a full-time employee.  He described growing up to me then as a conscious decision to reduce your options.  “I choose to attend NYU.”  “I choose to major in economics.” “I choose to work instead of pursuing a Ph.D.” “I choose marriage, kids, mortgage, …”

He wasn’t saying that reducing your options is a bad thing.  I think he was saying the opposite.  Choosing your path – making a commitment – is better than floating around aimlessly.  I made a choice on that day and took one of many steps toward becoming a grown-up.

I’ve thought of this a lot over the last few days upon hearing the news of Mariano Rivera’s career-threatening injury (He says he’s coming back, but I’ll believe it when I see it.) and the deaths of Adam “MCA” Yauch and Maurice Sendak.  You can choose to grow up by reducing your options, or it can just happen to you as the book gets closed on parts of your life, whether you want it to or not.

I was awestruck by Mariano Rivera’s performance in Game 2 of the 1995 American League Division Series against the Mariners when I was living in Seattle.  Since then, he has been a fixture of every summer and almost every fall for me.  That’s likely over now.  Adam Yauch and the Beastie Boys showed up when I was 15 or 16 years old.  My brother was ahead of me as a big fan, while I started to take real notice with the release of Ill Communication.  Still, they’ve been part of the background music of my life for all of that time.  Now, they’re finished as an act.  In 1977, I sat in the school library while Mrs. Flannery paged through Where The Wild Things Are for my first grade class.  For the last nine or so years, I’ve sat with CoolDaughters 1 & 2 through every television episode of Little Bear in all of its calming and soothing glory.  And, now, Maurice Sendak is gone, too.

It’s made me kind of sad lately to see the chapters of “Young Adult,” “Teen,” “Child” end as their component parts start to fade away, both through my own choices and just because that’s what happens.  Not to diminish the chapters of “Adult,” “Husband,” “Father” that are still in progress, but I think I chose to start “CoolDad” – buying music made by kids, going to so many shows, maintaining this blog, playing the guitar – in response to what’s been happening to some of those earlier parts.  Mid-life crisis?  I don’t know, maybe.

I do know that there are a lot of bands out there that interest me now.  I don’t have to wait for a reunion tour or album and wonder who’s going to fill in for the missing members.  Because of where I live, sometimes multiple bands I love are playing on the same night at different venues.  On those nights, I have lots of options.

Mariano Rivera

This Is a Huge Loss 

I know this is silly.  I, myself, have wished plenty of times that I could go off into a comfortable retirement at 42 years old.  But the potential end to the career of Yankee closer Mariano Rivera because of a torn A.C.L.  really hit me hard today.  It's not because of what it means to the Yankees, which, apologies to David Robertson, is BAD NEWS.  It's not really because of what it means for Rivera.  The injury is, of course, painful; and I'm sure he didn't want to go out this way.  But he will be able to live a normal, comfortable life in his native Panama, or wherever he chooses to settle, once he recovers.

It hit me so hard, I think, because -- and I know this is corny -- he is such a great example of how to live your life.  The key to his success was that nothing that happened on the field ever knocked him off of his feet.

Along with Ruth, Gehrig, Mantle, Berra, DiMaggio, and Jeter, Mariano Rivera is a Yankee demi-god.  He's Major League Baseball's all-time career saves leader and the best pure closer ever to have played the game.  But he also blew a save in Game 4 of the 1997 ALDS that ended up costing the Yankees that series.  He blew a save in what would have been the series-winning Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS that led to the Red Sox unprecedented -- and humiliating -- comeback from a 3 games to 0 deficit to win that series.  Perhaps most devastating, though, was his blown save against the Diamondbacks in Game 7 of the 2001 World Series.  He cost the Yankees the game and the Series with a throwing error on a bunt and by giving up the game-winning bloop single to Luis Gonzalez.  He took each of these failures in stride, though -- part of the deal.  During post-game interviews he'd always talk about how sometimes you get them, and sometimes they get you.  And he meant it.  And, especially after that Bill Buckner moment that was 2001, he kept being great.

We should all live like that.  It's just baseball.  It's just a game.  It's just one test.  It's just work.  Tomorrow is another day.  I try to do it, and much of the time I can't.  This guy did it on one of the world's biggest stages every day.  I know Mariano Rivera is a very religious guy, and maybe that's what allows him to approach his work, his life this way.  I'm not religious, but I think the key is finding something to grab onto that's bigger than you.  Your family, maybe.  Your writing or your music, if that's what you're into.

So the end of the Mariano Rivera era isn't just a sad day for the Yankees or for baseball.  It's a sad day for everybody who could use a role model that says, "I've failed.  I've failed in front of millions, and my name is on the list of the biggest failures in sports history, right next to Bill Buckner.  Forget that, though.  I came back the next day and the next day and the next day, and I just kept doing what I do the way I do it.  And I kicked all their asses."

Here's wishing Mo a speedy recovery and a wonderful retirement.  Can't wait for that Cooperstown speech.