auld

2016 has been a year.

Well, technically, all years are years, and most of them are equal, though this one was not. It was a leap year, and it was a weird year, and it was a sad year. I came into the year with a full time job, lost that job, pretended that I could survive as a freelance writer, came to terms with the fact that a baseball job isn't in the cards for me now, if ever, and finally, with barely any time to spare, found a new job.

In that time, there's also been a lot of writing. Baylor University self-immolated, and I was there to write about it from my unique position as both an informed advocate and an alumna. The Texas Rangers went to the playoffs, and I was there to cover their spectacular flaming out. I wrote about hockey, in my weird way. I got to work with one of the best co-authors a writer could ask for in Russell Carleton on a piece that started out as a "what if" and turned into five parts and counting, tearing apart the murky insides of Major League Baseball's front office hiring. I also took on everything from the absolute bullshit spewed by lawyers trying to keep minor league players from fair pay to major leaguers in Olympic sports. I wrote more, and more regularly, than I thought I could!

Normally, I'd try to write this with the passion and conviction - or at least elegant language pulled out of depression. The above reads like some laundry list of accomplishments, some kind of dry recitation of "please read my work." I mean, it's not that - every writer longs for approval, and applause, and the recognition of the audience - the reassurance that we're not just shouting into the void.

To be honest, this year hasn't been easy. I don't think I've given that impression on Twitter (hell, I know I complain a lot, and a lot more than I should, considering where I'm starting from) but it hasn't. Unexpectedly losing my job took a toll, as did the constant unending grind of bad news in both sports and life across the entirety of the anum. It's sometimes really difficult to take stock of where you are when weighed down with the pressure of everything around you, like you're drowning in the midst of your concerns.

Things are looking up, now, possibly. It's been a year where we've learned to take nothing for granted - not a job, not a life, not a fastball. Maybe we'll burn, maybe we'll emerge refined.

all my best,
kate

2016 Best Of, by yours truly:
The entirety of my writing on Baylor, but particularly "How the 'Baylor Bubble' explains the college's rape scandal." at Fusion.
"The Perils of MLB's Sorting System" with Russell Carleton, at Baseball Prospectus
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
"The Women's Version of Baseball is Baseball," at Baseball Prospectus
"The 7,500 Apprentices," at Baseball Prospectus
"Which Olympic Events would Baseball Players Be Best In?" at FanRag Sports MLB.
"Squishy Managerial Factors and what makes managers good," at FanRag Sports MLB.
"Take a Loss, Save a Bullpen," at Baseball Prospectus.
"The Joy of Adrian Beltre," at Baseball Prospectus.

My favorite writers in 2016:
Sam Miller, both at Baseball Prospectus and ESPN; Levi Weaver, of WFAA and everywhere else; Emma Baccellieri at Baseball Prospectus; Ryan Nanni on Twitter; Spencer Hall; Jarrett Seidler; Meg Rowley; Jen Mac Ramos; Corinne Landrey; Carolyn Wilke at FanRag Sports NHL; Mallory Ortberg, late of the late The Toast; the great Jessica Luther; and so many more.

I can't hope to both list everyone, and all my favorite pieces from everyone, but these people are great, and well worth reading.

So here's the thing.

I got caught between circumstances. Right after I graduated college, I could have done a baseball internship. I know this, because I did three months of an unpaid internship, but in social media. I did this while also writing twice a week about baseball, working a different internship, and living with my parents. I also didn't know enough about baseball to even be considered for a bird-dog scout job. I was just learning, but I was also using my time up.

Now, I'm older. I'm almost too old to be on my parents' insurance, I've got rent and bills and a car that won't pass inspection, but I know my baseball. Not well enough, obviously, but I like to think I've learned something in the three years between when I graduated.

I live a life of incredible privilege. My parents have been able to help me out - both right after I graduated, and when I was suddenly laid off from my full-time job. My friends are incredible, and even if I couldn't keep my apartment, I know I'd be able to find somewhere to live. What does that say that even if I, with the incredible luck, privileges, and inherent connections I have thanks to my work for Baseball Prospectus, cannot see a path where I would be able to survive on an internship salary, to the point that I don't even apply?

This is the thing, then - I'd like to work in baseball. It sounds really stupid to say that out loud, because we're never really supposed to articulate our "dreams" but I'd like to work in baseball. I like to think that with a little more experience I'd actually be good at it. For now, though, that door is shut to me. It's shut to me because despite what I do have, I don't have enough. It's shut to me because I'm a little bit older, a little bit later, a little bit less of whatever it is. You may say I'm the one that closed it, but even if that is true, I only closed it because if I didn't, it would swallow me whole.

Sure, some of this goes back to my inherent lack of self-confidence, maybe, the reluctance to even apply; but some of it is pure self-preservation - if I've already done the math, and I already know the answer, then why try to fool myself into other things?

I know it's possible to live off credit cards, borrow against a tomorrow you hope will happen, but that's not the reality I want. So yeah, I'll continue to fight with what weapons I have - my words, which have very little weight, but I do what I can. I do believe that there is a future out there where someone can figure out just a little late, someone who doesn't fit the pre-determined mold who has a mind that sparks when the information is provided. I just don't believe it's there for me.