Day 18: A time when you felt passionate and alive

   Two times I remember vividly, both while I was in Germany.

   The first was in the middle of a soocer game--while I was on the sidelines. Whaaaattt? Yes. Well, let me back you up a bit.

   I started soccer when we first moved to Germany, barely eleven years old and knowing absolutely NOTHING about the sport, other than there was a ball you kicked in a goal. I'd spent most of my life playing summer league baseball, but in Germany there was no other sport above soccer. To even suggest liking anything else, was--well--heresy! ;)

   I joined the base team, for the military kids who played against all the local German teams. One season I was the only American girl, teaming up boys and girls my age from Canada, Italy, Norway, Iceland, Holland, Greece, Wales, England, and another country that I couldn't pronounce, and therefore can't remember. ;)

   My first practice the coach, a young British-Belgian woman with a fantastic accent, just threw me out on the field with a soccer ball and told me to play midfield. I didn't even know what that meant! Or any good kicking techniques, for that matter. I was at a loss, and basically picked up rules and tips from my teammates as I went along, never once getting an official "lesson". By my third year and sixth season, I was a fairly good player, but almost entirely self-taught.


I'm the girl in blue! The boy in blue is my friend Jonathan, who played all three years with me.

   We were your typical feel-good movie underdogs...minus that glorious one-time-in-a-million championship victory. For the Germans, soccer is not merely a sport, but a religion. The children are practically raised on the field, kicking the ball before they can even walk. ;) We lost nearly every match, although there were two instances where we ended in a tie and a barely win of 2-1. Those games aside, we knew winning was something we could only have "back in America" and therefore played for fun more than anything else.

   This particular day, we were having an especially good game. The score was 1-3 at the time (so, see? we were only losing by two points today!) and everyone was in high spirits. I had just spent the last twelve-or-so minutes on defense, pumping up and down the field keeping the ball as far away from the goal as possible--or trying anyways. The coach rotated some of us out, and I sank into the lucious green grass, panting and feeling quite awashed with exuberant endorphins.

   I squeezed my eyes shut and listened to all the sounds--the other coaches yelling in German, our players shouting to each other in seven different languages, the fans going ballistic as fans will...

   And then I opened my eyes and stared right up into the trees on the other side of the field, which were tilting ever-so-gently with the slight but cool autumn breeze and it almost was if...I could feel...

   ...the earth moving.

   I sat upright and rubbed my eyes, feeling kind of dizzy. Well, that was weird, I thought, laying back down, blocking out everything but the sky and the wind and the trees. And then I felt it again! The earth was moving--always turning in the great expanse of the universe, but now it was if I could really FEEL it! That was undoubtedly the greatest sensation of my life.



   The second time I felt passionate and alive was in 2008, our last year in Germany, on a frosty February day. Mom gave Richmond and I the morning off of school and armed with heavy coats, boots, and a camera, we set out across our village to take a million pictures of the snow--the way it looked on the fences, sidewalks, meadows, and treetops.

   We had several favorite locations we loved to visit, namely a special hill--the highest point in our village--that we dubbed "The Top of the World". Because to a thirteen and eleven-year-old, it did seem to overlook everything for miles and miles. We made the long, harrowing walk to the top and then stopped to take "jumping pictures" with the beautiful scenery in the background.

   And so there, for a millisecond suspended between sky and earth, I felt unbelievably, breathtakingly weightless. Timeless. Limitless.

   Almost like I could fly--like the potential was stored up inside me, and I just had to find that one pefect moment to unlock it.