Dodgeball

If We're Lucky, We Forget We're Playing.

It’s like playing dodgeball. That’s how my friend describes life. As we get older, our chances of getting hit multiply. Over time, more and more of our friends and family members fall around us.

Sorry to bum you out, but I’m a bit bummed out myself and you know what they say about misery loving company. We’re all on the same dodgeball team, so welcome! Some of us are doing fine so far, but eventually, well, we’re all going to get nailed.

The funny thing is, as I am dwelling on this morose dodgeball analogy, personally, I’m in a good moment. My health is holding (knock wood) and good things are just around the corner. I feel a robust, vital sense of purpose. But yesterday, a friend who had literally just gotten through a two year run of family illness and tragedy found out she has cancer. The ball came flying out of nowhere. She is, as she put it, “angry.”

Angry? This struck me. It speaks to her nature, that she is feeling anger, rather than terror or despair. I also know that her wrath springs from her determination to stay in this futile, exhausting, exhilarating, beautiful game.

Ultimately, we all know how existential dodgeball ends, but that doesn’t stop us from being all in, demanding our fair share of game time, snatching temporary victory from the jaws of inevitable defeat. In the meantime, if you are an optimist (as I am) it is your nature to willfully forget the nature of the game, until you get a reminder, like I just did. What you hope for them and for yourself is time enough to forget again, or in other words, live.