Start of the working week and the first day of spring and yet I feel flat. I feel somehow guilty, for what I’m unsure. It’s hardly the best way to get things going but I’ll do my best.
Time for breakfast and a shower then off to work.
The first goal hit the back of the opposition net at the 10 minute mark of the first half. I lunged in hope but it was too late. Before the game ended I watched the ball sail past my outstretched hands another 12 times. Yes, that’s 13 goals in a game of round ball football. And if you know anything about the game you’ll know that 13 goals is a lot.
We got flogged.
But scoreboards only tell part of a story. Sure, they tell the result that declares who won or lost but they don’t make a winner or a loser. That’s a story made in the minds of the players.
And today we walked off the pitch as winners. We did that because we stuck to our game plan. We past well and shared the ball. We looked for options to the front the side and behind. And we played with dignity and good humor. Sure, we were flogged on the scoreboard but we never once gave up. We never once stopped trying and we kept to our work right to the final whistle.
If I keep tapping on this glass words will appear. And if I keep doing it long enough paragraphs will appear.
These paragraphs will tell a story, a story about someone who had nothing to say but said something anyway. But more than that they’ll tell a story about someone who made a commitment and refused to give in.
So now the tapping can stop and the day can begin. I’ve overcome one obstacle now onto the next.
There’s nothing more I can add. Nothing else that can be said that will make this world easier to understand.
So I won’t waste words. I won’t pretend to understand. Instead I’ll let the world and it’s pain wash over me and around me and through me. And though feeling that pain I’ll understand,
So there it is, the end of another week. Soccer training in the rain, totally drenched. Now I just want to go to bed and sleep. And sleep. And sleep.
But tomorrow I’ll be up and about. Exercising, weeding,living. It sure beats the alternative.
It’s 5am. I’m drinking coffee. On the wall the clock ticks, each second a death knoll for another moment passed.
I write, fingertips tapping on glass. Ahead of me the white space of the screen and the white noise of the day.
Soon I’ll pull on the runners and dive into the darkness and the song of birds announcing the breaking day. I’ll breathe in the morning air and drink my fill of that which makes the birds so happy.
And then I’ll go to work.
I woke up this morning at 4.
"Too early," I said, trying to will myself back to sleep.
"Get out and exercise, like you did when you were fit and tough," another voice urged.
I closed my eyes.
The darkness enveloped me, then the neighbour’s car door slammed close. 4:30 and I was still awake.
"No. Go to sleep."
"Get up, you’ll regret not exercising!"
"Go to sleep, you’ll be buggered by lunch time."
I fell asleep, a restless, fitful surrender.
And when I woke the regret began.
I was going to write something amazing, instead I wrote this.
I was going to practice my saxophone, instead I fell asleep.
I was going to read a classic novel, instead I watched reality TV.
I was going to. But I didn’t.
Lately, my life has been busy. Crazy busy. So busy that my day starts at a sprint and gets faster. By the end of the week I’m completely spent.
The idea of romance and self-indulgence is just that - an idea. That is until my wife bought me six saxophone lessons.
I’ve owned a sax a few years back. It’s a beautiful Yamaha Alto that’s still shiny and sleek. It truly is a work of art. Right away I started playing. I learned where the notes were and managed to play a few tunes. There’s the odd squark and screech and a missed note here and there but at least the music was recognisable.
But, for what reason I’m not sure, I stopped. And for the last couple of years I haven’t played a single note. Which is a shame because I love my sax and I love playing music.
So yesterday I had my first sax lesson. The teacher asked me to show him what I knew. I did. Right away he got me playing a little blues riff to backing music provided by some software on his computer.
I couldn’t stop smiling. I was seriously head over heels with the feeling of pure joy that comes from creating music that makes you want to tap your feet and drink bourbon.
Seriously, it was very cool.
As I drove away I wondered why I didn’t get lessons earlier. For me, my new music teacher is less of a teacher and more a coach. I have coaches both professionally and personally but I’ve never had a music coach. But now, I have. And I couldn’t be happier.