Growing up, you figure that it all comes to you when you hit adulthood, the answers to life. Until you learn more, and realize that there are some things that you never figure out, or come slower than you’d like.
I wish I had the answers. Or sometimes, I wish I had the right questions.
Or that there weren’t blindingly obvious things that I miss, or little details that I pick up that no one else does.
I think I’ve spent too much time with myself recently, thoughts bouncing off the cage of my mind, to be considered and reconsidered by someone who already spends too much time analyzing what’s been, and not enough on what is and what’s to be.
No time for regrets. There’s too much to do, too much to be done.
I played basketball the other day, for the first time in a long time. It was a joy.
Even in the most basic of forms, with more rust having accrued over skills underused and mostly forgotten (I have what might be the worst jump shot you’ll ever see), and being overmatched at times in the contest, it was an escape, a release, an exertion of body and mind that I relished.
Used to be I loved the competition. I still do, to a lesser extent. But now, it is about the game itself, about there being a time and a place for the satisfying ‘swish’ of the ball through the net, and the satisfaction of a game well played.
But it was a simple pleasure, in a time when I’ve had difficulty enjoying them. Thank you, God, for giving me this.