I am a passionate baseball fan who was in a panic about the results of the first inning of the game. If the first team didn't do well, I would get upset and assume that my team wouldn't win in the next eight innings. This mindset tormented me throughout the next eight innings, turning me into a desperate fan afraid of potential losses. It troubled me so much that I sometimes couldn't enjoy the rest of the game. One day, I even stopped watching the game.
It took me a while to realize that there were still eight more innings to go. The first inning is merely a prelude to an exciting and wonderful game. With each half-inning, there is drama, adventure, joy, heartbreak, struggle, and the fact that baseball, like life, is slowly and steadily unfolding. In the end, sometimes the team wins, but sometimes they lose; what always captivates me is the love of the game. It is the sound of every crack of the bat, every pitch, every play, every out, and every hit that forms the glue of the game I find fascinating. I had forgotten to call it a game, but you needed to see it in half-innings and watch until the end to see who would win. I had to hear how every crack of the bat brought about another possible outcome.
So why did I judge everything based on the first inning of every game? Perhaps it was pessimism, and maybe it was fear; perhaps it was simply a matter of temperament. Maybe it was just that I couldn't grasp it—I couldn't accept the connection between innings, games, and how they all fit into the season. I couldn't understand that the season is about so much more than just winning and losing, like reaching the playoffs or winning the World Series. It was also about the experience of the game, the sun during day games, and the simple joy of watching nine innings with someone you care about. Because there was a season to play, I couldn't judge a team based on the first inning. The score of a half-inning or the entire game did not determine the story of the season. It merely reflected a culture that confuses the obsession with winning in the moment with living in the moment, neither of which I understood.
However, the mistake of the first inning was not just about baseball; it was about my life. I viewed it through the same lens I used for baseball games. Often, I saw life events as if they were the first inning of a game. In my adulthood, career, parenting, friendships, and at the beginning of movements, if things didn't start well, I prematurely tallied them in the loss column. But like baseball, I began to understand that it is difficult to decipher what happens from just one life event.
I have seen so many starts that turned into disasters but ended up being successful. Others start with a grand promise that things will crash and burn. I once got what my friends and family called a dream job in a lovely city. My friends envied me—it was a wonderful job in a place most people dream of. In the first inning, it certainly looked like a victory. However, within the first month of my arrival, the job became a disaster. And for the next four years, it was a series of unfortunate events. Many of my colleagues were malicious people, and the management worsened. By the time I left, at the metaphorical bottom of the ninth, what looked like a victory felt like a terrible defeat, and I lost my morale.
But a year later, I realized that there was a silver lining to my four years of suffering. In a terrible environment, I made very good friends—wonderful people who made my life better and lifted the spirit of my soul. Regarding suffering, one day I was grateful that I hadn't seen those four years as a long lesson taken with me. Through all the pain, I learned a lot about myself, my work, and the world around me. This job made me a better human being. I became wiser and smarter from the experience. This job made me a person I liked more, but it wouldn't have happened without the suffering. No, I am not convinced that I should have enjoyed a single minute of suffering, but I have come to accept that the outcome was ultimately wonderful. I incorporated what I learned into my next job, which not only helped me but also helped others.
I realized that in both baseball and life, winning and losing are not just about the "final score" of a single inning or a single game. Winning or losing. You can win a game, but the best players get injured making grand plays. And you lose that player during the season. Is that a victory or a loss? Is it a good game or a bad game? I learned the importance of psychological flexibility. I now see that my view of life in terms of wins and losses is limited. Like baseball, life is a long season with many ups and downs—a long season where wins follow losses and losses follow wins. Sometimes I find it difficult to even determine what constitutes a good or bad outcome because I simply do not know what the future holds or what the present is teaching me. I learned that even losses were not so bad. It depended on what I did with them. When my experiences taught me, in the long run, losses won. When I understood where I went wrong and developed strategies to move forward, losses became a formula for more wins and less heartache. Perhaps most surprisingly, I now realize that victories are not always good. When victories came easily, they satisfied me and led to subsequent losses.
As for me, I have seen that I am having a good season. Whether I win individual games or not no longer matters. It is always about the season. So, like in life, I stopped focusing on single innings and individual wins and losses. I stopped looking at the team or my ranking. I now realize that if I truly want to enjoy my life, it is best not to focus on keeping score. That only tells part of the story. It is better to focus on the events and give the universe time to teach me what wins and losses are. I will leave the afterlife when the season is over. After 162 games, or when my personal season has extended, I will understand what each game truly was and how each pitch, every swing of the bat, and each half-inning fits into the fabric of my season.