I walked past an empty field yesterday and it was like an old friend was waving. Inviting me to visit. Welcoming me with a warm hug.
I stopped and took it all in.
The sun hit the fence and the dirt just right and it was like a portal back to my childhood. For a few moments the stress of adulthood withered and the hope and promise of youth coursed through my veins as I breathed in the familiar concoction of grass and dirt and the approaching fall’s breeze.
All seemed right with the world.
Right next to the baseball field, my daughter turned somersaults. The soft sun catching the tendrils of her hair as she personified the carelessness of youth I was remembering.
It was funny how that sight was like an elixir that no doctor could prescribe. It was just a field. One I had never even played on, yet it seemed familiar.
The memories flooded back. The way my cleats would nestle into the granules of dirt as I watched the plant leg of the pitcher – contemplating a swift steal of second. The cool feel of the grass when you dove for a ball that was just out of reach. The way a piece of your soul flew with the ball when you hit it just right.
And there I stood like Moonlight Graham in Field of Dreams, on the wrong side of the gravel with a goofy grin on my face knowing I can never touch my dream again. So why was I smiling? Because I was watching my daughter touch her dreams.
I swear that’s what that baseball field was directing me to see. This is her time. These are her moments to bottle up and remember.
Perhaps Dr. Graham said it best: “We just don’t recognize life’s most significant moments while they’re happening.”
Seeing the field isn’t the same as just looking at it. And thanks to seeing this field, my eyes are open now to these small moments that are significant ones.
A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck.