The other day, I tagged along to play football with some of my guy friends. It was a beautiful evening. The air was full of rhythm as an orchestra played that evening. Black bird sang and across the street music floated from a house across the street. The breeze blew the piccolo and the sky through its blue, purple, and orange rumbled the percussion. The lead instruments were my footballer friends. Put-put- put, tap tap tap, POP was the melody. The music played for a long time, until parrots' gentle waltzes were replaced by the quick, sleek frottage of the rat-bats.
After a while, I sat down. It was not the fact that I was the only girl, or that my presents made the teams uneven, or that I no skill in the game (I was playing with some seriously skilled ballers). I had not played ball since my high school injury, but it was not fear of getting hurt that compelled me to sit down. I was not tired, but I was full. I felt like the frustrate saxophone player, too in love with music to play along with the part I was suppose to. I was too involved in the whole piece to flow in my own. I was happy to sit on the side and watch my buddies play. I enjoyed the concert that evening as a highly involved observer. I wanted to dance rather than play my piece.
Will I always be an observer now? Maybe, but that is not so bad. Maybe I am finally growing up or maybe it is something else....
(I was barefooted during the game, by the way)