Now let's just get one thing out in the open before someone is sorely mistaken about my knowledge of sports.
I suck at sports. My friends from my childhood can vouch for me. I was always the weird kid who went to acting class on Saturdays when my friends went to little league softball. I went to arts camp during the summer while everyone else played soccer.
In high school I finally attempted to take on team sports.
I played field hockey and lacrosse. Although I loved playing, the message was clear: I needed to stick to the stage.
I will likely never be the girlfriend who understands anything and everything about sports. It took me an entire football season of asking an old boyfriend what "first and ten" meant before I finally understood.
But I want the boyfriend who loves sports and who will take me to games and won't mind my lack of knowledge.
I adore going to baseball games. I want someone who will enjoy attending baseball games and the theater with me. But he will have to understand that of all sports, lacrosse will always remain my favorite.
Okay. Now that I've shared a little about what I want from my future, here's a little nugget from my past.
Applying to college was a mess for me. My stepfather had died a few months before applications were due and it basically sent my life in a different direction than I had hoped or planned. I applied to several colleges with Northwestern as my top pick. I loved everything about it. And I didn't get in. Other schools that rejected me: Yale, UVA, and Carnegie-Mellon (bombed my audition for its opera conservatory. Worst audition of my life). After my horrible audition for CMU, I decided to neglect my other auditions. I had no idea what I wanted.
I remember my mother getting me up at four in the morning to drive me through a snowstorm to the train station. I had scheduled an audition in New York for UCLA's theatre department. (Both my mother and grandmother had graduated from the school so it made sense for me to apply.) As we approached the train station I started to cry. "Mom. I don't want to go to UCLA."
I felt horrible. I hadn't properly prepared for my audition. I waited until the last minute as the snow pounded down onto our car to say something. I felt as if I were a failure. Needless to say, UCLA took me out of its pool.
I also failed to audition for Northwestern's Drama School. Same with Yale.
I was feeling desperate.
I grabbed two applications from schools that had been sending me information for about a year. I grabbed a pencil and filled out applications to George Mason University and Roanoke College last minute. I got into both.
It was a blessing. By that time I'd learned about my father's cancer diagnosis, so staying relatively near the DC area would be good.
George Mason was tempting. It was close to home (45 minutes away). But my mother told me that even if I chose to attend the school I would have to live on campus; she wasn't going to let me live at home and avoid the full "college experience." So I chose Roanoke. I figured four hours was far enough away to pretend to be a grown-up but close enough to get my laundry done.
It turned out to be the best decision for me.
And now, as I face a major turning point in my life, I face similar decisions and challenges. Will I let fear take over and avoid taking risks? Will I chicken-out at the last minute? Will the last-minute backup plan turn out to be the best?
These are all wonderful thoughts. I suppose the best thing to remember is that God is looking out for me and really knows what's best in the long run.
So as the Final Four approaches and I wonder "UCLA or George Mason?" I suppose the answer is obvious.