Just Be Something

It figures.

Every year I grow a winter beard.

Every year, when I decide I'm 'in the clear' and either shave it or trim it back, the weather turns miserable.  It is a snowy, slushy mess outside with a substantial wind.  Ugh.  At least the days are longer.  This may have been the mildest winter we've ever had here, but I'm still ready for it to end.

I'm looking to spring, to be able to jog the city streets again without worrying about my feet going out from under me.  I want to hit the soccer pitch again.  Hell, I NEED to hit the soccer pitch again.  At every thought of kicking a ball around again, a grown kid of 35, my ankle cries just a touch in protest.  Gets a little swollen and thobbing, gently reminding me that it was my obsession with playing again that landed me on crutches for four months.

Last night I was at a friend's indoor co-ed game, one of his teammates went to kick a ball, wrapped her ankle around her opponent's shin instead of the ball and wound up on the ground with her foot dangling uselessly to one side, the same dumbfounded look on her face that said This should be hurting.  Why isn't it hurting?  Don't worry... give yourself a little time.  It will.  A lot.

Truth be told, I worry about hurting myself seriously again.  As it stands, my right ankle will probably never be the same.  It healed well, but there are certain days that it throbs.  Sometimes I limp.  I can't move it with a full range of motion like I can the other one.  The physiotherapist insists that I give myself time, that it will come around, that there is no reason why I won't make a full recovery.  But I worry all the same.

A workmate of mine asked me if I was either crazy or going through a midlife crisis.  Why, she asked, would you risk hurting yourself again?  Is it really worth it?

It is.  I told her.  And it isn't.  Soccer, apart from a bit of recreation, the camaderie of being part of a team and the healthiness that comes from running around a lot, really serves no purpose.  And yet it was soccer that really elevated me and showed me that I could achieve something if I just dropped the idea that I can't do it.  It sounds like corny motivational-speaker drivel, the kind I constantly roll my eyes about, but there is something to it.  Kevin Smith once said about writing that he hears a lot of people wanting to be a writer.  Wanting to be an artist.  Wanting to be a filmmaker. 

Don't want to be something.  Just be something.  You don't need anyone's permission.  You don't need to conform to anyone's standards of good or bad.  Just like the contrived slogan of a popular running shoe company suggests, just do it.  You may succeed or fail, but what of it?  There’s a Russian(?) proverb that I hear once in a while when I’m playing chess that translates to Those who have never failed are those who have never tried anything.  Chess players take great stock in the notion that your failures teach you far more than your successes.  I’ve known that playing chess, but have always had trouble applying that philosophy in the real world.  I was afraid of ridicule and judgment and the knowledge that may not be able to do as well as I would have liked.

In the end, whether or not I play soccer again, I’m glad I tried.  I’m glad I had the courage to test myself, even if for something so trivial.  The confidence boost I got, knowing I could still run with guys ten years younger than me made it worthwhile.

Fuck it.  Maybe I’ll shave… it’s just a coincidence.  Spring’s coming after all.

Although… I do have a date coming up.  There aren’t too many beard-liking women out there, but those that do tend to be really passionate about it.  Maybe I’ll see how the first date goes…

-PW