#RE2PECT: Jeter's Final Game In Pinstripes

The Promise

One day short of a year before this moment, a promise was made. A year ago, on September 26, 2013, as Mariano Rivera shed his tears on the mound of Yankee Stadium for the last time, I shed mine watching my team as I have thousands of times before.

My team.

Jorge. Andy. Mo.

And Derek Jeter.

I’ll admit I’ve been a spoiled Yankees fan. With rare exceptions, I didn’t pencil in October baseball – it came printed on the calendar. And we’ve all been blessed to grow up watching a dynasty of players, the likes of which we couldn’t appreciate at the time because, quite frankly, it’s all we’ve ever known. We still can’t REALLY appreciate it.  Not yet.

But we all felt it. And the only thing worse than saying goodbye to Mo on TV was not saying goodbye to him in person.

My sister founded the Church of Pinstripes in my family. She’s the reason I bleed Yankee blue, the reason I’ve frozen my butt off in the upper deck of playoff games, and the reason I’ve thawed out in Tampa for Spring Training. She’s a Derek Jeter fan.

So, that night, even as we watched Mo cry from our respective homes, we agreed: When it was time to say goodbye to The Captain, we would be doing it in The Bronx.

Part of me thought – well, hoped – that day would never come.  I never thought it would arrive less than a year later.

The Pregame

 

It always rains on me at Yankee Stadium, you know. What the forecast predicted, however, wasn’t rain. It was monsoons. The kind you should build an arc for. We didn’t build an arc. We just packed in layers of ponchos and jackets and umbrellas. I learned to swim before I could read, so I wasn’t worried about the rain. I WAS worried about tickets.

I won’t tell you about my internal panic or my external tears in Babe Ruth Plaza or how I pretty much was ready to trade anything for a ticket when it got to be 6:15 on Thursday, September 25, and I was still outside Gate 4.

And then something crazy happened to the predicted monsoons: They turned into cotton candy pink skies and a rainbow over the House that Jeter Built. Literally. LITERALLY. We should’ve known for sure right then that the fairytale ending was put into action.

I’ll be honest – I was anxious. More than nervous, less than scared, somewhere in that space where I never considered that we wouldn’t actually find tickets yet all of a sudden we were a half hour from game time and still hoping for a miracle.

Tickets did get released on Ticketmaster. My fingers weren’t fast enough to capture the made up words they wanted me to type in, but I saw them. Game day tickets also dropped for sale at the Stadium ticket window. Saw those too, as the guy in front of me snagged the last pair.  At that point, I was ready to pay whatever necessary to get inside before Jeter’s final roll call. It had to be 6:35 at that point – half hour til game time.

But here’s the miracle: My sister wouldn’t allow me to sell my hair or a kidney to see Jeter’s last game. We’re Yankees. And Yankees don’t panic. They play it cool and wait it out before swooping in to get what they want. I can't say we were that cool, but we were lucky. Remember the guy in front of me with that last pair of tickets? A little Cashman-style negotiation and those tickets became ours. Not for free, of course, but it didn’t cost me any vital organs either.

It was 6:51 when we entered Gate 6.

The Game

Our seats were perfect once we got to them, but with barely fifteen minutes to move across half of a sold-out Yankee Stadium, I was out of breath by the time I slipped into position just before the final roll call of 2014 started.  

You can find me above a left field sign in the Main Level, right on the fair side of the foul pole. First row, perfect view of the shortstop (position and player) and clear vantage into the dugout. Sure, the Legends seats would've been nice, but, the way things turned out, I think we had the best seats in the house.
 

Of course, with two quick home runs in the top of the 1^st inning, roll call got a little bit disrupted by, you know, a GAME to play. Still, the Last First “DE-REK JE-TER” chants earned The Captain’s cap tip, and the electricity of the crowd surged. 

And that's how it started. Every time #2 took the field, you wondered if it was the last time you'd be staring at that number in pinstripes. Then came his final error, in the top of the 2nd - glad we got that "last" out of the way early! His last double play came in the 3rd...but only after a review.

Jeter’s last first at-bat brought a ball to deep left field – near where we were sitting – and stopped just short of the wall to become Jeter’s Last Yankee Stadium Extra Base Hit. The middle innings brought us his final ground out and his last strike out in pinstripes. Those aren’t the ones we want to remember, but they’re history nonetheless.

And in between, the chants of “DE-REK JE-TER” got louder, morphing into “THANK YOU CAP-TAIN,” then various combinations of whatever we, as a crowd, felt like shouting. It created noise that, while not even close to being in unison, was unmistakable in its message.

If you watched it at home, you saw what was evident even from the left field stands in Row 1 of Section 233a. You saw our captain breathing out emotion, shaking off tears, quickly acknowledging the moments with a wave or a tip of the hat, as if to remind us that he loved us, but he still had a job to do.

Finally, looking at the scoreboard in the 7^th inning, I started to understand what was happening. It was ending. All the excitement, all the nostalgia, all the celebration leading up to these final moments. Not just in one night, but the entire season, and in the seasons before it as we said goodbye to our Dynasty Team.

 

When Bernie and O’Neill disappeared from the outfield.

When Joe Torre left. When Jorge said goodbye.

When Andy and Mo decided it was time to walk away.

I tried to take in every flavor of the moment, knowing I wanted to remember how perfect the autumn night felt – a breeze waving the Jeter flags around the facade, the coolness reminiscent of post-season nights. The Stadium rumbled with the start of every chant, the cheers erupting as each video tribute played in gratitude for Derek Jeter.  One of these moments – his next hit, his next play, the next half of the inning – would be his last.

My sister calculated it around the same time – a final at-bat in the 7^th or 8^th would give Joe the opportunity to stage the moment that brought us all to this shrine of baseball, as long as we could get a lead. The moment we all wanted to witness, even if we would’ve happily delayed it for a season or ten if Jeter just…changed his mind.

The 7^th inning started with a passed ball on a strikeout. Then a walk. And a single on a bunt. And all of a sudden, the bases were loaded when Bob Sheppard’s voice echoed over the crowd, it, too, set to retire with the number 2.

We all watched Jeter at the plate, set against a background of cameras flashing and fans on their feet, as they have been for 20 years. With that signature swing, bat touches ball, and Jeter scores those go-ahead runs, not on a hit, but on an error. His final reach on an error at Yankee Stadium, and no one was complaining about how he got to 1^st Base. We were just happy he was there.

The 8^th inning buzzed, and the chants continued. Jeter squatted, Jeter looked around, Jeter stood, alone, the centerpiece of Yankee Stadium. Heading into the final inning with a 5-2 lead, the video tributes to Jeter stopped. This time it was Jeter’s tribute – his favorite Yankee memory.

You may have seen it – Jeter talking about winning, about the championships he’s given us, about being there, on the field, for the final out. And HIS final out was coming. In moments.

The crowd was on their feet, applauding, chanting, and, yes, crying. All anticipating Joe's trot out to give Jeter his moment. Except he didn't. Not before the first out. Not after, when the walked lead off batter put a double play on the table, threatening to eliminate Jeter's chance to be taken out of the game with ceremony.

And then Robertson dealt a pitch that nearly ended in my lap. And that is NOT an exaggeration. The Adam Jones home run bounced not three feet away from me. And yes, like an idiot, I lunged for it…even though I had a camera in both hands.

Well, that eliminated the double play, and the crowd knew it. We still had a lead…for about four minutes before a second ball landed in the left field stands (this one out of my reach), tying the game…and making the perfectly staged ending for Derek Jeter a bit more unpredictable.

And yet, maybe, because it’s Jeter, we should’ve expected it all along.

The Moment

Going back to Jeter’s favorite memory, I thought about him being on the field for the final out. I thought about how Jeter probably didn’t want to be taken out until the game was won. He might’ve done it for us, still chanting his name, but that’s not what he would’ve scripted for himself. What actually happened?

It was about as “Jeter” as you can get.

With a tie score in the bottom of the 9^th, close to 50,000 people in the stands – and everyone else watching wherever you were – knew the same thing: there was a very good chance Jeter was getting another at-bat.

It started with Jose Pirela’s single to left, a rookie who debuted less than a week ago. I started praying again around that time, just hoping for a scenario that did not jeopardize this win for Derek Jeter. This game HAD to be a Yankees Classic, I HAD to be able to relive it in perpetuity at random times on YES Network, and as we all know, the good guys always win those Yankee Classics.

Bob Sheppard’s voice could just barely be heard this time as #2 stepped up to the plate following Brett Gardner’s successful sac bunt. I clenched my grasp on two cameras, bit my lip through our crowd chanting and just…waited.

First pitch to The Captain, the bat hit the ball and jetted into right field. The initial swell of cheers and screaming came as Jeter touched 1^st Base. We were all so preoccupied by our hero, I think much of the crowd – for just a moment – didn’t realize that pinch-runner Richardson was still making his way around the bases.

Then came the second round of screaming, as Richardson slid across home plate, scoring the winning run. Players poured onto the field. Jeter flew in celebration. The crowd literally shook the stands below me, and the adrenaline kept vibrating like the heartbeat of Yankees Universe. There was no taking Derek Jeter out of a game. Somehow, he did it HIS way.

We didn’t know where to look except to watch what was happening, and then we all realized what was happening at the same time.  There, waiting to celebrate and welcome him into their immortality, was our Dynasty Team.

Joe Torre remained composed as he watched his baseball son. Andy, Jorge, and Mo –three of the Core Four - stood in their Yankee jackets, Jorge giving a playful smile, while Tino and Bernie joined the lineup of proud older Yankee brothers.

Jeter didn’t notice them at first, and who could blame him. The moment was brighter than even he could’ve expected, than any of us could’ve, and he was surrounded by the bedlam of his teammates. The end of a game. The end of a season. The end of an era.

The group stood in a composed line, and as their faces appeared on the scoreboard, the audience cheers, somehow, got even louder. That line, and the mob just a few yards from it somewhere around second base, put it all into perspective. Twenty years of celebrations for Derek Jeter culminated just as he moved into a new role.

I know I wasn’t the only one flashing back to October nights – and sometimes November ones - seeing those faces on the field together again. We’re not just losing a player – we’re losing our final connection to those glory days. As much as things have changed in 20 years, Jeter had been our constant.

When Jeter finally did notice his brothers, and then his family, anything that had been on his shoulders released. We’ve seen that smile for two decades, but this one was different. This time, his joy matched ours for all the same reasons. As his voice took over the Stadium saying all the right things, it really began to sting as reality set in.

 




Derek took a couple of laps around the field, tipping his cap as we refused to stop chanting his name. He stopped at his shortstop home, giving us one final chance to brand that image into our memories. 
 









What seems so clear now, in this moment, will give way to stories and misremembered details, but that is an image I won't forget. A man, saying goodbye to the piece of himself that has been there since he was a child: the dream come true that almost never does but, for him, did.

The Legend

Yankee Stadium will never be the same, but I’m glad my final memories of Derek Jeter unfolded as they did. Caps lay on the warning track in tribute to The Captain. The shortstop dirt was raked into bucket after bucket, presumably by Steiner for all your memorabilia needs.   The stands remained loud and in love as the man spoke to us from the centerfield screen from the press conference, repeatedly thanking us for thanking him. The loudest cheer came when he announced that he had played his final game at shortstop because it meant that memory was preserved, forever, in Yankee Stadium.

Never again will we see a single digit in pinstripes, never again will we hear Bob Sheppard’s voice as a batter enters the box, never again will we watch Derek Jeter on the field.

My generation should remember the appearance of “Babe Ruth” to Benny “the Jet” Rodriguez in “The Sandlot.” When our grandkids remake the movie, it’ll be Derek Jeter coming to them in a dream, but the sentiment will be the same:

“Heroes get remembered, but Legends never die.”

Derek Jeter is both.

The ironic thing about Jeter’s last Yankee Stadium game is that it was the first that he played in that meant nothing in the standings. In TWENTY YEARS OF PLAYING, the only “meaningless” game Jeter played while wearing pinstripes was the one that meant EVERYTHING to me and millions of Yankee fans - to millions of BASEBALL fans.

Thank you, Derek Jeter. Thank you for making sure every single game meant something.

Yearbook: Top 13 of 2013

Over the past few years, as we've all gravitated towards overshares and stream of consciousness writing via social media, it seems that every day of the year has some significance for someone we know. Whether it's a birthday or wedding, celebration or memorial, it's hard to scroll too far before realizing that today is a special day.

As I've gotten older, the years seem to be speeding up, the months seem to be shorter, and seasons pass faster than I can appreciate them. I try to reflect on the ones that are particularly important, but, coming to the end of 2013, it occurs to me it's not just the graduations or the weddings or even the birthdays that stick out. In fact, it's actually less about them. Those are the ones that fill the photo albums (digital and otherwise), but a lot of the experiences that really color my memories are fleeting moments that, somehow, change me.

This year, as I polish up some resolutions for 2014, I'd like to say goodbye to 2013 by sharing one of these experiences each day - my own Top 13 of 2013.

Stay tuned for the 2013 Year Book.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #13: No Day But Today

Day #13: TODAY

Ok, so this is an absolute cheat: Day #13 on my list is today.

Today, December 31st, I will end the evening amidst people I have known either for most of my life or all of theirs. My last few New Years have been welcomed with my oldest friend and her family at my side. We met over a quarter century ago, when we were probably 5 years old, and the circle of fun has grown from the two of us to include her sisters, their cousins, husbands and what seems like dozens of kids.

But here's the cheat: "today" isn't only December 31st.

It's also May 18th, and March 10th, and April 23rd.  It's July 20th, and November 28th, and September 8th. April 20th, October 26th, May 30th - they're on the list too.

Trust me, I know it sounds cheesy, but 2013 had a lot of good days that made little moments big days. Like taking a hike (and NOT getting lost). An impromptu lunch date that was supposed to be a trip to the farmer's market. "Running" a Christmas 5k in the actual snow. Live tweeting with people who share your snarky side. There were weddings and babies and graduations and parties, but even more than that? There were unexpected times to relax or to laugh or to just be with people I didn't want to smother with a pillow.

So, for that, Today gets a nod as Day #13.  You pick it, and it's on the list.

That'll come in handy if I'm still around to write one of these lists in the year 2365.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #12: Hidden Magic

Day #12: November 18, 2013

As I've mentioned before, several of my top days relate to Disney in some way, and even though I'm fortunate to be a Parks veteran, there's always new magic to discover. On my most recent trip, in November, I had several of those experiences. We had a lot going on during that visit, from a special preview screening of Frozen to Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party, from Glow With the Show to watching Disney literally build Christmas in front of us. There was a lot going on. But one moment in particular is one I'll always consider special.

Now, before I even get into the details of the experience, I want to point out that November 18th is my best friend Lindsay's birthday. It's also Mickey Mouse's. I always find it funny that two magical influences in my life are celebrated on the same day.

But there's also something else about November 18th and Mickey's Birthday: It's the only day out of the year when the heavens, literally, align to project a Hidden Mickey in the queue of Under the Sea, the Little Mermaid ride in Magic Kingdom.

For those who aren't aware, Hidden Mickeys are "Mickeys" that are...well, not really so hidden, for the most part. Some might be accidental tri-circle shadows, others may be intentional Mickey-heads built into scrollwork or paintings, and some aren't very hidden at all if you know where to look. They're all over the resorts, and there are several books you can use for a scavenger hunt to find them. Some of the resorts even have their own challenges - you can pick the list up at the desk of, say, the Wilderness Lodge lobby. My mom even thinks the lights on the back of the buses are Hidden Mickeys...but not until after she's been drunk on pixie dust for a few days.

The Little Mermaid Hidden Mickey, though, is special. It was designed by Imagineers and only rumored until November 18th of last year, when visitors to New Fantasyland could check it out for themselves. Lo and behold, the Imagineers had so expertly crafted the rockwork in the queue that only when the sun hit one exact point in the sky would the special Mickey project.

And it was due to happen on the Mouse's birthday.

Under the Sea!

When our trip coincided with this moment, I knew where I was going to be at noon on November 18th. I had gotten some details about where in the queue it could be seen, and I assumed I wouldn't be the only one looking for it, and the original post I saw claimed it would be visible for about an hour around noon.

Yeah, that was totally wrong, but I'll get to that.

With our MagicBand Fast Passes set to get us in to the queue at just before 12, I thought we'd be in perfect placement. I was totally wrong. I heard murmurings around of people who were clearly doing the same thing I was, hoping to get to the Mickey in time to take a picture. Then the murmurings got a little more interesting, and as I turned around, I noticed "IMAGINEER" badges on the two men in line behind me.

Needless to say, I've never concentrated so hard in line for a ride.

I eavesdropped for a couple minutes as they discussed the rockwork in the queue and debated over where the image would show up and what it would look like. They had no clue. They were even more lost than I was. We were no where near it, and the clock was ticking very close to noon.

They pointed at a waterfall and to the way the "beach" around Eric's Castle was chiseled with such precision. "It's not there, guys. It's not out here. It's inside, near the carved statue," I wanted to say.

And so I did.

I definitely interrupted them and showed them the image from last year, hoping it would help identify what part of the queue WE needed to get to, and I may or may not have pulled the girly sympathy card and whined about how the only reason we got Fast Passes for that time was to see the Hidden Mickey.

One man took my phone and looked at it, telling his Imagineer friend, "Here - she's got it. It's inside the curve where the statue is."  I know. That's what I said.

And then he asked if I wanted to go with them.

Um....I know that running off with a stranger man is pretty much the beginning of a Lifetime movie, but I was willing to take the chance. Yes. YES I want to go! He asked how big our party was, and I pointed to my mom and sisters, "It's just us." I waved them to follow but, for whatever reason, they chose not to. I think they were concerned about jumping the line but...well, I'll be concerned with that another day.

Anyway, the Imagineers opened a couple of gates I never noticed to approach the bend in the queue from another angle "backstage". And there it was.

The Hidden Mickey. A glorious lighted Mickey-head near the base of the wall.

Birthday Hidden Mickey

One piece of the rockwork

If I'm being honest, while I delight in seeing unexpected Hidden Mickeys, it's not a big deal to me. I don't get that excited about them, I rarely hunt them down, and I don't think about them that much. Except this one. Because this one was PLANNED. This one was the result of someone deciding to do something secret and special that took actual PLANNING all for, what, a few minutes once a year?

I don't understand how science works when we're talking about the sunlight and stuff, but I do know that that Mickey head disappeared a lot quicker than I expected. What I had been told would be an hour actually lasted less than ten minutes. In fact, by the time the Imagineers and I had arrived, it was already out of perfect position, and a moment after that, it was barely distinguishable from the other shadows on the rocks.

Already out of position a moment later

But here's why it was so cool: I saw it with Imagineers. Imagineers who had actually WORKED on the designs for New Fantasyland. These guys, the ones who literally built the Magic Kingdom. One of them told me he'd been working on Storybook Circus for the last three years and had only just heard about the Little Mermaid Hidden Mickey that morning - he was completely unaware that it existed. He showed me an email on his phone, directly from the someone who was responsible for the queue, that gave the precise schedule for viewing.

I loved it. I loved that these people, these Imagineers, found every bit as much enjoyment in their own work as the rest of us do. I love that there are passionate people who bring us the things we're passionate about. I told the Imagineer how impressed I was by the work and how much I wished I could be one of them.

"So do it," he said simply. "Why wouldn't you?"

And I looked around the beautiful design and the architecture and the way the sun was hitting the rockwork at that moment and explained that I wasn't good at that stuff. Math, science...I can't figure out what time the sun would be at that angle. I might be able to write a story about it, though.  And do you know what he told me?

Hidden Mickey, hidden again

"So what? I can't figure it out either. That's why we have people to do THAT stuff for us. We do the other stuff."

Well. I mean...I can live with that. I can do the other stuff.

It wasn't a long conversation before the Imagineers disappeared behind that wall again to go back to work, and soon my family was joining up with me from around the bend. By that time the Mickey was nothing, and there was no evidence of my Imagineering moment.

But I know it happened. And it was damn cool.

Hidden Mickeys are all about finding magic in unexpected places. I think got two-for-one on this deal.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #11: How We Roll

Day #11: October 5-6, 2013

A lot of people use New Year's to make relationship resolutions, and as I've gotten older, I've come to appreciate all the different relationships in my life. Sometimes the people you're looking for don't come around, but the people you aren't expecting make up for it tenfold.

In 2013, a lot of new relationships developed, but it's my friendship with the Scarjanis that I count as the most special one. Mia and I, of course, have been close for a long time, and she's an important part of my small circle of besties. What's special about this year, however, is that I've also come to consider Ferdinand a trusted support as well.

Lots of times, friends and significant others politely meet but never truly bond. There's nothing wrong with that. It's nice to be able to hang out and enjoy each others' company, but I have a lot of people that I consider very good friends whose husbands merit barely a wave as we leave him with the kids to go grab dinner. As a single person, it's often hard to really get to know those boyfriends or husbands because we just don't have a lot of mutual interests, and my friends and I very much value our girl time.

But then there's Ferdinand. Mia and Ferdinand - the Scarjanis! - are a terrific couple to be around as a twosome. They're a special pair because as simply as they care for each other in the smallest of big ways, they embrace me (and you) with their love, too. Being in their home is just warm, and it's fun, and it's never about awkward small talk.

Give me a home where the buffaroll roam...

This fall, Ferdinand took a step towards a goal he's been planning for a long time with How We Roll. It's basically an egg roll business in which you've never experienced anything more tasty in your life. I've been hearing about How We Roll for quite some time, but I don't think I really appreciated exactly what Ferdinand was capable of.

And then October came, bringing Shelton Day with it. When I got a last minute text from Ferdinand asking if I could help roll with him, I didn't even pause for a second before I said yes. Honestly, I had no clue. Not a clue what I agreed to, not a clue as to why I agreed, not a clue as to what the hell he was doing. But you know what? It was Ferdinand, asking for my assistance, so whatever it was, the answer would be yes.

Absolutely serious at all times.

Over the course of a Saturday afternoon, I joined Ferdinand's best friends to roll. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands, I don't even know. Rolls, I mean. Not friends. There were less than a handful of us in that kitchen, and we were greatly outnumbered by egg rolls.

I remember endless trays of beautiful buffalo chicken burning my esophagus when I breathed in deeply and boxes of wraps that weighed more than me, and OH, the bowls of steak just waiting to be folded into the warm blanket of an eggroll. Buffarolls and PA'Steak Rolls, and if your taste buds are piqued, they should be.

Ferdinand taking charge

And through it all, Chef Ferdinand took charge of that legit restaurant kitchen. Politely giving orders and taking care of business. I love that he trusted us to get the job done, and I love that we did, singing along with the oldies Johnny Rocket-style, elbow deep in buffalo chicken.

But there's a reason this day stood out for me. Two reasons, actually. The first, as I said, is because I was honored that Ferdinand invited me to be part of the process of something that was special to him. The second? The second is because I was so proud that he actually took a chance on that something special.

And, as an extra bonus, there was more good news that day from my Disney friend JZ, who was spending the afternoon at an audition to make his own dream come true. Hearing the smile in his voice when he called to update me on how the process was going is exactly what every one of these decisions should be about. Every step should be one you feel good about, and every step should get you closer than you would be if you just stood still.

Walking up to the How We Roll booth at Shelton Day to see my best friend Mia manning the fryer and Ferdinand charming the crowds once again, I don't know how he brought it together so quickly. I took it as a "quit talking and start doing" lesson, because that's the only reason anyone got to experience the magic of a Buffaroll that day.

And that, my friends, is how we roll.

My friends get a thumbs up.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #10: The Music of My Heart

Day(s) #10: August 25-29, 2013

Strap yourselves into the DeLorean, ladies and gentlemen - we're double time traveling for Day #10!

Back in August, for one glorious week, I got to revisit one of the most exciting periods of my life - The *NSYNC Era. Now, in the interest of full disclosure for all my e-friends out there who don't know me in "real life," it should be noted that I've never TRULY closed the book on the *NSYNC era. I've proudly kept my boys on my heavy rotation playlist, and it's not unusual for me to find a way to make *NSYNC relevant to conversation on a regular basis. Normally, however, I'm aware that I'm living somewhere in 1999, and there aren't a lot of people there with me.

That changed in August. For one week, a rumor fueled the teenybopper groupie within not only me, but pretty much the entire WORLD, feeding her with the swoony gossip that I haven't truly felt since their "hiatus" began a decade ago. All of a sudden, people CARED about my boys as much as I did! All of a sudden, people were interested in the stories they typically tune out of! All of a sudden, everyone agreed that *NSYNC should never have left me!

Uh, us. Should never have left US. That's what I said.

Artifacts.

Anyway, the days leading up to *NSYNC's reunion at the MTV VMAs were like old times for me. I had so many amazing experiences as a superfan and met some really terrific people that I've continued to stay in touch with, so any excuse to go back to those days is a welcome one for me. So much has changed in the 15 (FIFTEEN?!) years since my first encounter with my boys, but it's amazing how quickly I can be right back there in that moment, feeling the butterflies of hearing JC's voice take over an arena. One of my favorite parts of that week was revisiting the artifacts from that *NSYNC Era, the details of which I wrote about in this blog.

Especially because it happened just a few weeks after I was hit on the head with clarity (see: Day #9), I also took all of this as a sign that I had made the right decision. Back in the turn of the century (that is, circa 2000), nothing was more important to my happiness than *NSYNC.

Seriously.

Nothing.

Concerts, TRL, Meet 'n Greets...I literally don't think anything brought me more joy during that era than being in a tv studio or arena witnessing the electricity that was *NSYNC. It was the dawn of social media and the internet, as celebrities and publicists began to experiment with the power of engagement, and, because I was a young student who didn't know any better, it seemed like a great job to be in.

I still think that. But, if I'm being honest? I lost it for a few years, as my life took one of those detours, and the adrenaline fueled lifestyle of a professional working in that environment passed by me, though I'm still convinced I had the opportunity to get so much closer to it. So much. To the point where even I sometimes wonder if the life I lived for those few years was real.

But then the reunion came around. And I stood up refusing to blink, holding my breath, feeling everything I felt a decade ago, with the only difference being that I was in my living room this time, instead of watching it live on a stage a few feet in front of me.

And to top it all off? *NSYNC let the entire fandom know about me just a few days later. With one tweet, it was all worth it.

Of all the things to be embarrassed about in this photo, I couldn't be more proud to own it.

Twitter fame doesn't last long, of course, but the excitement, for me, has had a residual effect. In a year of moments that have given me confidence in my choices, one tweet can do a lot to remind me that sometimes the right people do take notice.

My boys, as a group, have since gone back into the vault, and it might be a long time before we hear those voices live as one again, but the sweet tone of the reunion week will echo for quite some time.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #9: Clarity

Day #9: August, 2013

A few of my top "days" actually cheat a little in that they're actually a specific time rather than a specific day. One of those times occurred in early August.

I've previously written about a general feeling of uncertainly in regards to what I want to be when I grow up, the fluid nature of where I expect to see myself in five or ten or thirty years. I can picture the future in a lot of different ways, some more satisfying than others, always making it work, but, usually, still not feeling "settled".

I'm confident I'm not the only unsettled person in the world. Not even the only unsettled person in MY world. I know people have different dreams for themselves, I know that they've imagined different outcomes. Some are still working towards those visions, others have tossed them aside in favor of detoured lives they're content to live. I think that knowing what you don't want can be easy, knowing what you do want can be hard, but knowing what you're willing to sacrifice to actually get there? That's the most difficult part. And, in my experience, it's not until you're forced to answer that question that you can feel better about being unsettled.

That was my experience this summer. For a lot of reasons, I don't want to get into too much detail, but I'm hoping that maybe by NOT being specific, this might apply to more people than just me.

I finished school this year. My Master's program in Corporate Communication. It was really just an expensive excuse to develop myself professionally and hopefully put me on a better path to being settled. I was in the program for two years before I found this clarity, and in the end? It had nothing to do with school.

I've often been asked what my "dream" job would be. I usually rattle off a couple of Disney-related ideas (Monorail driver! Balloon vendor! Princess!) before getting to the "real" stuff - the writing, the public relations, the event management - that actually encompasses what I've gone to school for. (Twice.) On paper, I want to be involved with social media engagement, I want to work on community campaigns, I want to travel, I want to be part of something that makes me feel good.

On paper.

And, in August, I was given an opportunity to do just that, for a cause that has hit very close to home recently. It was perfect. On paper.

Yet, for three agonizing days, that paper got flipped over and folded into origami creatures and turned around every which way. The perfect job - on paper - just felt...unsettled. I couldn't find the catch. It was an amazing opportunity that I will NEVER again have in my lap. Besides the typical things I freak out about - decisions and change - I couldn't find one substantial negative in the offer. Oh, sure, there were smaller things that would have had to have been discussed, but the job and situation itself? It was exactly what I would've written for myself.

Except that it felt unsettled.

I knew that if I took that opportunity, it would be another bullet on my resume. I knew that I would still be wondering how long until my next chance. And I didn't want to do that. As I said, I don't like decisions, and I don't like change. I want my next move to be a long term one, not just another box I check off on my Linked In profile.

But, sometimes, it's hard to tell what part of your brain is talking to you. The scared part. The practical part. The lazy part. The egotistical part. The naive part. The voices are probably all there, and, stupidly, I listened to them all. I made my decision based on all those voices in my brain, and I pressed send on the email.

And then I literally panicked.

It was that moment that my gut woke up and banged on the door of my heart and asked what the hell was going on. Great timing, you two. It would've been helpful to have the same visceral reaction a day or so before it had come to that.

As soon as I had my answer, I went from the anguish of decision making to the complete adrenaline rush of clarity. I knew what I wanted to do. I knew I wouldn't feel settled without doing it. But, for the first time? I felt like I could. I felt like I had to. I felt like I would.

And that clarity has made every day since a little bit easier to battle, knowing that it's my choice to be here, right now, in THIS life, but working towards something else. Each day is not a trap. It's an opportunity.

In the midst of all of this decision making, I was given advice that I think is actually pretty helpful. When forced to make a choice, put your options down on slips of paper or even assign them to different sides of one coin. Choose the paper (or flip the coin), and before you even get a chance to read the outcome fate has chosen for you, you'll already know what you HOPE the answer will be.

Heads for yes, tails for no. Either way, while that coin is in the air, a strong piece of you will be willing it to land one way or the other.

And THAT is your answer.