A piece of me found home again. A piece of me came back to life. It’s just a piece, but it’s an important one. 

I played soccer for the first time in a year- let me repeat that... A YEAR. and I was terrified. It’s strange to think that I was so afraid of something I love so much and that held such paramount importance in my life, but injury and fear can do that to you. Fear of re-injury, fear of having lost any ability I ever had, obscured my love of the game. And though I never thought it’d be possible to stay away as long as I did, I let fear dictate my decision to stay away.

One thing I was afraid of was stepping on the field and realizing I’d never be able to play like I used to... that maybe I’d realize in an instant that soccer would never be the same for me. But I was so wrong it almost brought me to tears.

The field smelled the same, the immediate comfort with a bunch of scrappy guys that I had never met before felt the same, the sweat dripped the same, the ball felt the same.. and within minutes I felt like a part of me finally woke up after hitting the snooze button a few dozen too many times..

This is not to say that I was anywhere near as fit as I used to be, or that I wasn’t rusty, or full of aches and pains.. but just to have gotten back out there felt illuminating. Being injured for awhile makes you realize what a privilege it is to be able to simply move, and play out all the angst and tension held inside. No matter what level you’re at, the luxury of playing is some sacred gift that I’m exponentially more grateful for now than ever before.