Two years ago to the day, some of us walked out of our offices never to return in quite the same way.
“Take what you need to work from home for the next couple of weeks,” they said. Reminds me of what we used to tell each other when moving from field to field, looking for our next game. “Stay with your stuff.”
Those days, before the internet, before mobile phones, before Facebook and Zoom.
“Moons, what field are we on?”
“Moons, what time’s the game?”
“Moons, who do we play?”
Why am I hearing these voices in my head today, of all days? Mary and I sit at the kitchen table and talk about what’s going on in the world.
“Reminds me of what it must have been like in the sixties,” she says. We talk about war, protest, riot. About gas lines and rampant inflation. We both try to remember a time when, aged eleven, most of the noise passed over and around us, too young to comprehend the mayhem.
“History repeating itself,” we say and think. Climate, social injustice, war, gas lines, rampant inflation and now a pandemic.
“I was twelve,” Mary explains. “A good girl, mostly oblivious. Came home and did my homework.”
“I was eleven, and an idiot,” I think to myself. Came home and didn’t do my homework. How am I so lucky as to be here with Mary?
Two years ago, our lives and world changed forever. Wild and unpredictable things already resulting from decades of disruption. A sixteen-year-old school-girl skips class and mobilizes an army of activism. A billionaire with an electric car wants to move us all to Mars. The most unlikely of Ukrainian personalities becomes president and inspires a nation and world to resist.
Fifty years ago, a new game popped-out of the turmoil. Maybe not as a direct result, but the timing uncanny. 1969, the year of Woodstock, and free love bore something new. The game — ultimate. I rode that joyful wave for half my life, making my parents wonder out loud, “when is Steve going to grow up, do something with his life?”
These are times when we can do things with our lives. Little things. Big things. To help shape a new world out of the disruption and uncertainty. What can I help pop-out of the confusion, so another generation might ride a next wave of joy? The early growth of our sport indebted to a dedicated group of high school students who committed to start college teams, so they could keep playing. Simple really.
“Moons, what time tomorrow?” I hear someone ask from out of my past.
“Moons, can’t we just stay here?” someone always seems to insist. Tired of moving.
“No we can’t.” I have to say, over and over again. Not then, and not now.
I had some of the answers that day, but not as many today. Don’t know what we’re going to be facing in the morning. Don’t have a grip on today’s epic challenges.
Still, I remain grateful to the game. To the ultimate community. To all the big and little things we’re doing to help. Hopeful for future waves of joy, because good things can result from the chaos.
