While filling out college applications several years ago, I was posed a bizarre question for an essay:
Where do you enjoy getting lost?
Sitting at my desk, I pondered the prompt. “Where do I enjoy getting lost?” The common answers popped into my head: the library, to show I’m studious; a museum, to show I’m cultured; or maybe even a park, to show that I’m capable of getting lost in nature — something like Walt Whitman, I thought.
But then it hit me. I don’t enjoy reading so scratch off the library, I’m not one for museums normally, and I’m no Walt Whitman.
The answer that illustrated who I was came to me, after a few moments. I like getting lost at a baseball game. Let me explain:
Whenever I think about going to baseball games my mind is flooded with fond memories and vivid imagery from simpler, childhood days: the smell of popcorn, the sunshine beating down on my weathered, faded baseball cap, sticky fingers from cotton candy, and my grandfather showing me how to crack sunflower seeds in my mouth and spit out the hulls. Just a simple thought of going to a baseball game transports me back in time.
This is my utopia.
I was very lucky growing up to have grandparents that cared enough to share with me the great game of baseball. Starting in middle school, each summer they, along with my uncle, would take me along on a baseball tour to several ballparks around the country. We took four tours: a west coast jaunt, an east coast saunter, a southern swing, and a midwestern journey, and all in all, we hit 26 of the 30 major league parks.
So through this blog, follow me on my journey to finish off the rest of the parks that I’m missing! I’ll be sharing stories, opinions and off-the-beaten path facts about each of the parks I’ve visited, along with some baseball-related trips around the country that are worth a visit.