Seeing the field isn’t the same as just looking at it. I swear some of the most spiritual moments I have ever had came on a baseball field.
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 fall breeze.
All seemed right with the world.
Right next to the 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 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 the 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.”
Thanks to seeing the field, my eyes are open now to these small moments that are significant ones.