Baseball, Sombreros and Feelings

I had a rough morning at work.  Actually, this morning's episode was the culmination of several weeks of letting my mind wander out to left field.  For you non baseball aficionados, left field is where the weakest player usually ends up.  That player has the shortest throws to 3rd base and the shortstop, usually the best athlete on the team, is able to get to the balls that are heading to the short left field area.  The left fielder can often be seen picking clovers or admiring the shapes being made by the passing clouds.  Thus, being out in left field is synonymous with someone who just doesn't have his or her head in the game - they often are in an alternate reality.

Sounds like any of us could be in the major leagues, but even the left fielder has to come to bat at some time during the game.  There's nowhere to hide when you're at the plate and the pitcher is winding up.  Being a good hitter is as much about confidence and mental preparation as it is about strength, coordination and technique.  Perhaps the attributes required of a 300 hitter are the same as for the enjoyment of life.  In many respects, like baseball, life is a game.  The more we are able to keep things in perspective and realize that we control how we feel about ourselves and our lives, then the better we will be at playing that most important of all games - life. (That's a small l, although my kids really love Life, the board game too.  Grown ups run for cover whenever it comes out of the cupboard, either because it takes too long to play or because it reminds of us too much of paths not taken.)

I retired from the RCMP a year ago in order to preserve my mental health or, more accurately, what was left of it.  At the end of my career I felt like a baseball player who had already struck out three times in a single game and was stepping to the plate for the forth time against a flame throwing southpaw.  Every day, as I headed into the office, I believed the prospects of a fourth strike out, thereby earning the inglorious golden sombrero, loomed large.  Negative experience after negative experience clouded out anything that was good about being a cop.  I became afraid to make a mistake.  I found it tedious to even think about taking the bat off of my shoulder.  I became a left fielder who couldn't hit.  There was no place for me to hide or be hidden.  I went to the bench and warmed it for a while.  I evened tried pinch hitting, but the magic never returned.  I considered myself washed up.  My contract was bought out.  I was only too happy to go.

Time is the supposed healer of all.  I think this is often true, especially for illnesses of the mind.  In some cases though, healing appears to have occurred, but in reality it is only because the passage of time plays tricks on our memories.  It is the human tendency to see the past while wearing rose coloured glasses.  That would explain why so may athletes attempt comebacks long after the sun has set on their careers.  A few months or years removed from the routine and rigors that permeated their lives for decades makes them believe that they can run just as fast as ever, that they are smarter than before, and that they can still catch up to the 95 mile per hour fastball.  In reality, few, if any, ever get back the ability or the glory.  Despite this fact, every year, there are those amongst us who make the attempt.

I was (am) one of these hopefuls.  Four weeks ago I began a temporary job with the province doing regulatory enforcement for the financial services industry, which is comprised of  those companies and individuals who are involved in real estate, insurance, and securities.  In my mind it was sort of a "cop lite" situation, similar but calorie reduced, so it would be better for me.  It would have a similar flavour as policing, but would likely not have the same degree of stressors that gave me such a bad taste at the end of my career.  In any event, my term would expire at the end of March and I could then walk away knowing I had fulfilled my obligation.

The first four weeks have been like baseball's spring training.  I have slowly been working the cobwebs out and have shaken the rust from the part of my investigator's brain that has been dormant for many months.  It has been good to get back into the field and once again toss the ball around with my teammates at my new office.  There has been no pressure to put up numbers.  For four weeks I have been the Babe Ruth of batting practice, as I easily handled everything thrown my way.  As you know, batting practice fastballs are not fast at all.  Even chasing down fly balls in left field is easy when it's not in a game situation.

Today was opening day.  This morning, I was to commence an investigation involving some possible wrong doing by people in the financial services sector.  It was to be my first plate appearance in my first real game since I started on the come back trail.  I froze.  Worse than that.... the bat was shaking so much in my hands that I could not hold it, let alone think about taking a swing and making contact.  The not-so-good memories of my time as a cop returned with a vengeance.  I was not ready for the negative emotion that came along with the memories.  These feelings are powerful and oh so real.  For the last number of years when I was a police officer, I had a recurring dream that I was in a dangerous situation and needed to fire my gun at a bad guy.  No matter how hard I tried, I could never muster the strength of actually pull the trigger.  The dream would always focus in on my hand and my gun and I would be left wondering why I couldn't do something so simple and that I was so good at in practice.  My dream never went any further to explore what happened to me or the bad guy.  I never really find out if I'm shooting my gun to save only myself or someone else as well.  When I left the RCMP last year, that dream stopped.  As I reflect to write this story, I realize that it returned last night.

I've been told by a person, who should know, that dreams don't mean anything.  I've also been told by a person, who does know, that I must first deal with the feelings that I am experiencing because of my new job and that dealing with the specifics of the job are secondary to that.  Well, where do I start?  I have feelings of here we go again, disappointing my family, of anger towards people at my new office, of being trapped in a job that I hate, uncertainty about what my career future will be or should be, guilt for seeming not to have made any progress in my self-understanding during the past three years, and about contributing and bringing  enough money home so my family's quality of life is not adversely affected.  I want my life to be filled with happiness and worth.  I think(?) I need a job that has those qualities as well and is not simply a place where I go for 40 hours a week or is used as a means to an end.  Is that unrealistic?  Perhaps I'm dreaming.  Maybe I've spent way too much time in left field.  Maybe I like the view from there.