I’m staying for a second year. I made the decision about 3 weeks ago and the news was shared a few days thereafter, so it’s not quite as momentous as one might think. That said, it hasn’t completely sunk in or become apparent to me. Between the grind at work and family and friend visits.
We’ve all got stories. We have short stories, long stories; stories about fun, folly, freaking out, failing, and finding our ways. It’s probably not too much of a generalization to say that for many of us, there are a select few we carry in our back pockets—they’re stories we’ve polished over many retellings, deliberately meandering.
The holidays are a fantastic time of year to be with those you love. In the American northeast, the region I call home, the warmth of family, leisure, and reconnecting with old friends always presented a nice respite from the increasingly cold and shortening days. It’s a time of thanks and reflection during which I.
On Monday, it was with a predominantly white South African and expat group. After work, I trekked out to Table View, a neighborhood about 30 minutes north of city centre along the coast to play with my summer league soccer team. The quality of competition isn’t the highest as we managed our second blowout win.
Soccer is a simple game made difficult by the players. A teammate shared that statement with my while playing soccer in university. I can’t really argue with it. In theory, the game is so simple. In practice, I’ve given it over 20 years of my life and am still so far from having figured it.