The above photo is how my week ended and my weekend started. In bed, with mad men. But by Saturday, I had finally eaten and was off to play in an ultimate tournament. Remember Saturday? The day cats and dogs fell from the skies and the wind was so strong you could feel it pulling at your car. Yes, that Saturday. We were outside. Playing ultimate. Hardcore or stupid? Hardcore and stupid. Mostly stupid. By 2 pm we’d won the tournament because the other teams had all gone home and the team that was supposed to play us for the championship defaulted. They’d had enough. It was cold. Oh so very cold. And we were wet and miserable. See?
We got home and changed quickly, leaving all our disgusting wet clothes in a pile in our hallway and changed into our swimsuits and dry sweats and headed over to our friend’s (and tourny teammate) house for a hot tub with the rest of the team. It was lovely. And warm. And there were beers consumed. Then we rushed home and showered in record time so that Aaron and Luke could come pick us up. We headed to Guelph for a fun night celebrating Steh’s birthday. See?
After a delicious dinner (I think I was still cold from the rain at this point!) We went to another bar to meet up with the rest of the celebrants. It was great. Steve and Ron had fun. See?
Sunday we had an indoor game, which we won and then we jumped in the car and headed to Mississauga to visit my family. My brother Taylor is getting so old (and he’s so cool) and it was really nice to see everyone and catch up. Then to Matt’s parents for a quick bite to eat and homeward! Matt had some guys over to watch some new war show and I met Amanda for tea. It was a really, really great weekend.
And it got me thinking…I love my life. A lot. Matt and I were talking about how much satisfaction we have and our day to day existence. Sometimes I think about getting a tatoo that says, “tell a better story” –based on a concept from a book I read. I’ve written about it before, but can’t find the post. The idea is that you are the hero of your own story. Your life is only as epic, wonderful, exciting, meaningful as you make it. Imagine looking at yourself like the protagonist in a movie or book…we always want to root for the under dog, the person who took risks, who was loyal, who love hard and big. We want those characters to succeed. And so it is with our own lives. When I think of myself as a character in a novel that is being written with every breath I take–I make better choices. I forgive with more ease. I take big risks. I want to tell a better story with my life–so at the end of it all, when I look back I can think, “i wouldn’t have changed a thing…” not because I don’t believe in regrets, because I do, but more because I never want to miss an opportunity to change my story–to make it more others-focused, passionate, committed, loving, adventurous.
I love my life–perhaps now more than ever. I can’t believe the value of the people I’m fortunate enough to call my close friends–to have tea with, to have Saturday dinners with, to go on vacation with, to play ultimate in the rain with, to have phone dates with, to celebrate birthdays with, to wake up with every morning–to call family. Gah! It’s lovely.
Yes, it’s true, I am no longer a spring chicken. I have laugh lines around my eyes and I’m certainly not getting any younger. What I am getting is happier, more fulfilled and more useful. I’m getting better at not just taking up space any more. I’m getting to know myself better. I’m telling a better story.