Tonight, for the first time in a long time I got to play sand volleyball with some friends.
It was the type of game where none of us were keeping score, all of us were yelling, diving, and cheering, and we all were about as bad as the rest—and it was a blast.
Towards the end of the game, I noticed an older women in uniform, presumably a facilities worker, who was watching curiously from the sideline.
It’s hard to describe, but in the manner of her body language, tilt of her head, and look on her face—it was as though she was living vicariously through us for that brief blip of time—unlike the other spectators who were very casually watching.
It was as though she was entranced—maybe remembering times from the past? Maybe soaking in some of the fun for herself? Maybe just entertained by the ridiculous sight of it all?
…What she was thinking, I’ll never know.
But, what it got me thinking about was how grateful I was to be the participant in those moments. To be the one on the court doing the yelling, diving, and cheering. To be the person in that privileged position of being able to play the game.
Something I think many of us take for granted… until one day we find ourselves drawn to a commotion… that’s on our path home… that contains this scene of people yelling, diving, and cheering… that leads us to a sideline… where we find ourselves watching vicariously…
And suddenly… without a drive to play.