on having the ball at my feet again
I complain a lot about life in the suburbs, but one thing I appreciate about my time here is getting to play soccer regularly. I've been playing soccer on and off since I was five or so, and it's one of my very first memories. There are few things that bring me as much joy as having the ball at my feet, so much so that I often say I would even give up good food and drink to be able to play all day and not worry about other things. I think playing soccer is one of those things I was born to do, not in the sense that I'm any good (I'm not), but rather that if you gave me a ball to chase, I could chase it around the globe. When I play soccer all my worries melt away, as if nothing mattered beyond the white outer lines of the field.
Even though I discovered soccer early (like many kids here, actually), once it became apparent I had no athletic talent I found it harder and harder to make the time to play actual games as schoolwork and music took over. Sure, I still played in the street, and sporadically in college, but for many years I fell out of touch with the sport I loved, much to my chagrin. Soccer is one of the lowest maintenance sports, but I was almost always missing either the time, equipment, place to play, or people to play with.
I now play thrice a week, two hours each, for a total of six hours a week. It's the most I've played maybe ever, and on an actual turf field with real goals to boot, not on asphalt with sections of the curb as goals like I'm used to. The circumstances aren't perfect—I wish I had friends to play with, as it can get lonely playing with people from a different generation and culture—but even so, it's been incredibly satisfying feeling myself slowly get more comfortable with the ball, figuring out where to run and what to do on the field. Playing pickup with these middle-aged men has, without a doubt, turned into the activity I most look forward to every week. And that means a lot when I don't have many of those on my calendar these days.
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