Driven
It’s the times when you don’t have time or space to doubt yourself that your mind steps up and performs to its fullest potential. When I did not have time to consider that both Richard and Steve are taller than me and were intent on removing the ball from my control, I could drive and shoot - and get the ball through the net. If thoughts of doubt came into my head for just a fraction of a second, as they certainly did, things such as Steve stuffing the ball with a resounding “THUMPOING” and me watching it sail behind me occurred instead.
We lost.
But we fought for it; the game tonight was the best this summer. It was to be played to 21 win by 2, but John and I took it from down by 18-20 up to … a loss of 27-29. Discouraging? Not at all. It didn’t really matter - it was so amazing to be outside, sweating around in the warm summer night (fighting off the mosquitos later), feeling alive in an uterally visceral and undeniable way. As long as I keep this journal, I will keep trying to convey what it feels like when 8 months of chilly weather are interrupted by 4 warm months of summer. Everyone is outside, you actually hear the birds singing (I bet people in the south take them for granted), and on and on. I haven’t come close to capturing the atmosphere yet: poetry may be the only way to get across the feeling of waking up on a summery morning, or checking up a ball during a game of pickup, standing on warm concrete and looking at the long rays of sun catch foliage as red light skims across the earth.
I may have been stuck inside for 8 hours today, but summer is the ultimate rejuvenator.