My Summer as a Baseball Mom
I will always remember the summer of 2023. I needed to live in another state where my son was playing on a prestigious travel baseball team. One of my most poignant memories is how quickly these baseball adventures transported me back to my early years of parenting — not because my son was acting like a little kid, but because, just like a young child, he depended on me for so many things, like chauffeuring him to various baseball tournaments. He wasn’t old enough to drive, so, for those long, warm summer days, I found myself playing the role of his logistical support system – just like when he was young.
I found immense satisfaction in this role. We shared hotel rooms, went out for meals, binge-watched Netflix series together, and occasionally indulged in terrible junk food from those questionable hotel mini-stores. And we spent many hours in the car driving to the next tournament. On these drives, we listened to podcasts (shout out to Rich Roll, Tim Ferriss, and Andrew Huberman) and chatted in a way that is not always possible with busy lives, electronic distractions, and differing interests. There was a certain sweetness in this connection, a feeling of being needed that becomes increasingly rare as our children inevitably grow up and become more independent.
So many factors were beyond our control, so last summer was equally valuable as a learning experience in how to balance structure and planning amid uncertainty. At one end of the spectrum, the baseball practices and tournament schedule brought a sense of organization to my summer. Despite my complaints about the endless logistics — the packing, the to-do lists, the schedules — there was something soothing about knowing where we needed to be, when the tournaments would be held, and when we had to move on to the next event. My ADHD brain appreciated the regularity and the comforting rhythm to it all, like a well-rehearsed dance where you know your steps, and you can anticipate the music.
At the other end of the spectrum, the summer became an unintentional course in mindfulness. Going to a tournament meant not knowing when we'd return. Winning meant staying longer, so we needed to extend our hotel stay and juggle work commitments. I spent an entire morning in my car while it poured with rain, rescheduling client meetings due to an ever-changing “rain delay” schedule. My anxiety was in overdrive.
I had to find ways to cope. I started keeping a "got over my anxiety" list, a tip I picked up from an ADHD course I took earlier this year. This list served as a reminder of instances when I had successfully navigated enormous uncertainty in the past. I also doubled down on my meditation practice and was conscientious about making time for it morning and evening. And I found ways to appreciate what I was doing and be in the moment. For instance, I discovered a beautiful running trail in one small Massachusetts town, and in another, I witnessed the most perfect rainbow of my life over a five-and-dime store. In addition, I got more skilled at managing my work commitments amid the always-shifting schedule of tournaments. We went to one tournament on a Friday expecting to return on Sunday and ended up coming home at midnight on Wednesday! I had to dedicate regular time to planning. I didn’t schedule coaching meetings on tournament days and instead focused on research, writing, and administration.
Most importantly, I improved my ability to accept the things I couldn't control – the weather, the team's performance, and tournament rules. What I could control was my inner attitude and my response to external circumstances. It was a lesson in using my agency to determine how I would respond to elements beyond my control. In one chapter of my book, Coach Yourself, I describe the actor-spectator framework, which is all about leveraging your agency no matter what life throws at you. I put this framework to regular use this past summer as I learned my own lessons about flexibility, focus, and mindfulness.
As I reflect on these experiences, I can't help but think about how quickly our time with our children passes. Statistics say that by the time they turn 18, we've already spent 95% of our time with them.
Next summer will be different. My son will have his driver's license, and he won't be as dependent on me for logistics. Yes, we'll still attend tournaments, but it won't be the same. While there will be new and different ways for us to connect, he will need me less. I will always cherish the memories of time spent with my son, but I'll undoubtedly feel a sense of loss as this chapter of my parenting journey comes to an end.
Last summer also was a vivid reminder that our transitions, no matter how bittersweet, are part of the beautiful tapestry of our life.