Such varied paths we must take to a goal

I've always wondered why I've been attracted to women who have strong, upbeat personalities.  Some people might describe them as overbearing or opinionated.  It would seem that I was asking for a severely bruised ego by going after someone with a dominating personality.

You know, shy, introverted guy interested in a brash, extroverted female.  Undoubtedly the standard opposites attract cliche.  Right?  Well, not quite.  I may be shy and introverted, but I certainly have a stubborn and rebellious streak in me.  The type that doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.  And when I'm certain of the ground I'm standing on, I can be just as loud and well, extroverted seeming.

So, what exactly makes me interested in that type of person, someone who would spend a lot of time arguing (loudly) with me when I felt I was right about something?  It's simple.  And it took me years of introspection to realize it.  So obscenely simple.

I want affirmation. Affirmation that I could never humbly be demure about.  I need to be wanted in a way that no matter how much I denied it, it would be loudly expressed by someone who couldn't express it any other way because they'd be too honest to say something that wasn't true to them.  And when I can no longer deny it, to know that in the silence that remains, I would still hear that affirmation calling out to me.

Isn't it funny how varied are the paths to the same simple goal and desire?

The question it happens to be

I have always felt a bit melancholic at this time of year.  Even as a child.  Summer ends, school begins, and the carefree idleness goes away to meeting the expectations and doing the work of others.  Though it isn't the only reason that this time of year reminds me of the fact that the innocence of youth has come to an end.

One particular summer, years long gone by, as a child (teenager, really), I visited some relatives who lived in a small city west of New York City.  Spending that nearly month long visit seeing the sights and doing things I hadn't done before, like stuffing myself with ice cream in a day long tour of the local zoo, or learning to fly fish (unsuccessfully) by drowning some worms.  Even got a chance to drive a farm tractor.

And while out there, I became enchanted by this young girl that possibly ruined me for anyone else.  I can't recall how many nights I would sneak out of my relative's house, something relatively easy to do since I was on the first floor and they were on the second, to meet her by the river.  Sometimes to sit and talk, and well sometimes for more than just talking.

The hardest thing to do was get on the bus to go back home when my summer idyll ended.  How sad I had been to have to part with, as cliche as it might be for a teenager, the love of my life.  The worst part is that I couldn't write her after I left.  How do you explain to your parents you needed money for postage to keep in contact with a girl they didn't know I had met?

I kept that melancholy bottled up, even from my closest friends.  It was a time when all of us were discovering girls.  Though I was boneheaded enough to discover one hundreds of miles away.

I'm not entirely sure why it came to mind today, but it did, and of course, my melancholy deepened as I remembered in my mind things that had come to be the past.  As fortune would have it, my relatives out west did something that my family couldn't condone after I returned and I have never been back since this happened.

I sometimes wonder about her and try to imagine what her appearance is like now.  If she moved on, well, I'm sure she did, actually.  Or whether she has a spouse and children now and what type of job she might work at.  I'm not sure if I want to see what Time's hand has changed that glowing image in my head.  Do I want to remember her as my memory does or adjust it to reality?  Or am I using this memory to idolize something that can't ever be the same again?  To paraphrase old Bill Shakespeare: To idolize or not to idolize, the question it happens to be.

Boys of summer?

So, on this 116th official Labor Day, I didn't take out my camera, I didn't work on pictures, and I wasn't working some event.  I did what many Americans do.

I burned some meat.  I tried to recapture my youth by hitting around a cork centered, leather wrapped ball as hard as I could.  I ate too much.  I watched other people's children run around.  I made balloon animals for them.  It was an enjoyable day being a part of the festivities instead of documenting it.

It also felt weird.  I didn't think about finding good light.  I didn't think about ISO, aperture or shutter speed.  I didn't worry about where my gear was and if it was safe.  Instead, I worried if I put too much air in the balloon to make a poodle.

During the softball game, I made an amazing play on a ground ball, pro worthy, even.  Running to the left to snag a ground ball on a hop with just the glove and then tossing it to first to get the runner out.  Something any pro should be able to do regularly.  Something my error ridden team managed to do a few times in the five innings we played.  Goose eggs abounded during the game.  And I hit a two run home run.  Not bad for a guy who never played in little league.

A little boastful, perhaps, but I'm not exactly known for my hitting or fielding, so I couldn't contain myself.  It was great to be one of the boys of summer, even as it's recognized as the "last" day of summer.  Now off to go burn dinner.  My final stats of the season?  1 game, .333 BA, 2 RBIs and 1 HR.