I’m devout. I’m spiritual but not religious. Not me. I don’t buy into all that New Age, woo-woo stuff. And I don’t buy into the sky bully or your other opiates. This but not that. Love, not hate. Acceptance, not judgment. Not like you. I’m proud of my education. You’re proud of your common sense. I stand by my principles. You stand by those close to you. I look for open doors. You jam your foot in there. I weigh decisions carefully. You just do and see where that gets you. I’m not like you. Democrat. Republican. Independent. Liberal. Conservative. Centrist. Milquetoast. Extreme. All the ways you other. Just like me. We’re down to threads. But when Sid Bream slid into home, we dropped everything to hug and jump. When the virus hit, there was a brief window when the dividing walls fell even as we were trapped inside the literal ones. When your child was in the hospital, only offers of help remained. If we could peer into everyone’s search histories, chat prompts, therapy journals, intimate conversations, we’d see the same questions in different languages. Maybe I am you.
Sid Bream, 1992, Game 7 of the NLCS: “the slowest man in baseball,” safe at home by an inch, and Braves fans everywhere jumped.
If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. A comment, a share, or even just a like goes a long way. Writing into the silence is its own practice, but knowing the work lands makes it easier to keep showing up.