The SuperBowl of Epiphanies

After binging on savory, gravy-based Thanksgiving dishes, cat cuddles, and a viewing of the third Hunger Games movie with my brother, I was nestled under the neck massager/heating pad watching the 49er's (unfortunately) turn over the ball to the Seahawks twice when I had an epiphany.

I've never been a sports fan. That much is certain. But I never realized exactly why until this moment. 

I've always been reasonably afraid that my lack of true vigor for sports will prevent my future husband from wanting to marry me, somehow. So it's understandable that I don't really talk about this. But in truth, I've never really been into watching sports (at least on TV) and probably never will. The problem isn't that I don't have a sport; it's that I don't have a team. And lamentably, this is irreversible. Here's why. 

For most people, watching sports starts with their favorite team. Any interest in watching other teams stems from their relationship to the "home" team or that team's rival. For diehard sports fans, this is because their loyalty to a certain team comes from their loyalty to a place. Philadelphia. San Francisco. Chicago. Boston. The greater DC area. You get it. For my parents, their teams are a symbol of where they grew up. Their family. Their livelihood. Of course they would care about that. They should. 

I don't have any real loyalty to a team because I don't have a hometown. The closest I have is a vague, exaggerated allegiance to my parents' teams, mostly my dad's because I was born near where he grew up. It's familial, but in reality, sports teams mean nothing to me. I didn't grow up going to games. It doesn't remind me of my hometown atmosphere. I have no connection to them, and because of the person that I am, somehow this means I can't honestly get behind them. 

Though this all seems like an arbitrary and completely useless revelation, you're going to have to take my word that it brought me incredible relief. Finally, I have a logical reason for why I get distracted during the SuperBowl. It's like I didn't realize I was waiting to forgive myself until now. 

So, in conclusion: Mr. Right, I will completely respect and support your right to scream at the TV and have friends over when your team goes to the SuperBowl, and I will even pretend to be fully engaged, but I will never be the girl that can put on a jersey, sit in the middle of the couch on the edge of my seat and banter with the guys about players, no matter how much I wish I was. I will, however, wear the jersey because I think it looks cool. 

Dear American Red Cross,

According to you, a pint of Liquid Me was unwelcome today in the science center during the blood drive. Why, you may ask? Well, apparently spending 5 or more years in Japan puts me at a slightly higher risk for a blood disease that they conveniently can't test for without an autopsy. So it looks like my dangerous foreign-exposed blood will not be saving any lives except my own.

And as I left the science center having gained a chapel credit but lost no blood, I was tempted to regret having told the truth about that small Asian island that held so much of my life in its salty hands. But then I stopped myself. 

Because you know what? 

That fifth year in Okinawa- the definitive year that prevented me from giving blood today- gave me the happiest and most fulfilling moments of my life. I spent it with the people who will be in my wedding- the people who saw more of my character grow and hold more of my heart than any other bunch on this measly continent. I jumped off a 30-foot tower into the ocean. I set a bonfire in my backyard. I latched onto the tail fin of a moving whale shark. I ate fried rice so incredible it made me cry just thinking about it a year later. I laughed and cried when things mattered, dreamed wildly and loved more than I knew I could. 

And I refuse to regret it. Because that year on that jewel of an island may have prevented me from saving anyone else's life today... but it sure saved mine. 

November Adventure Bucket List

Now that this giant gem of a fall show is over and my days just expanded by several hours, I want to use them with gusto. So without further ado, here are some excursions upon which I wish to embark, in no particular order.

• Find the nearest animal shelter/pet store with a room that lets you play with the puppies and kittens and just spend a solid hour letting furry animals soothe my soul.

• Go to a planetarium show. (Everything inside me longs for this more than I can express.)

• Spend several hours in Boston by myself, just walking around or maybe touring a museum.

• Visit the aquarium and giggle with glee at the fishes and turtles and jellyfish and such.

• Go to Chili's. I haven't eaten there in forever and there is a whole in my heart that only unlimited chips and salsa and Molten Chocolate Cake will satisfy.

• Find a new woodland trail and spend an afternoon taking pictures with friends there.

• Visit a pentecostal church and unabashedly praise with my whole body.

• Learn the Around the World swing dancing move so I can return to the Debauchery Swing club with something up my sleeve. Also, the Helicopter.

• Finish figuring out GarageBand and then go to Philips and whip out piano covers of Painting Roses, West, and a couple others. Then mix them and add harmonies and such and maybe post them on SoundCloud if they're good.

• Get better at riffing on the ukulele by watching Jake Shimbakuro tutorials on YouTube and crying a little.

• Bake cookies with the Quad Squad and then watch Inception. Or Lord of the Rings. Or anything, really.

• Write more letters. To relatives. To old friends. To new friends. To Santa. (Wait what?)

• Continue to attempt abstract watercolors and continue to turn out grade-school-level blobs of color that vaguely resemble a landscape. 

• Acquire more hats. (I don't really need more time for that, it's just something I want to do.)

My spontaneity level is either about to skyrocket or plummet. Fingers crossed. 

Research Hours

We can curl our knees
towards us, tightly fitting
ourselves between bookcases
like puzzle pieces with sore
backs for infinite
cups of hot chocolate

but the conversations I remember
best will always be
the ones I have later,
with myself, bouncing
off the parallel walls
in hallways
that offer no answers
as to why I can't
just be brave

because it's the aftermath
that brings the epiphany,
the crunching icy remnants
of what-ifs
shouting that fine line
between bravery
and spontaneity,
and how I can't admit
that I lack the
thing I want most
to be,

since that would require
less thinking
and more doing-
its easier to accept
that reality
and my imagination
will never
be friends

First Snow

Sweater-wrapped palms
suppress breathy giggles
that bubble
from that place
I forgot was still
inside me
the place that doesn't
care that class
won't be canceled

the rough patch
in the middle of my
tongue is permanently
scorched from all
the times
I sipped too soon,
dunked my nose
into whipped cream
and sank my shoulders
into booths with
blissful sighs

so I tie the belt
on my coat with the
satisfying tug
of a secret agent,
feel the wind
bite my nose
and make it blush,
complain
with the rest
that my toes are numb,
and bury my palms
in my damp
sweater sleeves.