Soccer, Stardust, and a Stadium Hot Dog
March is Martius, named for Mars, the god of war and harvest. Marking the start of the farming and military campaigning season. He understood the duality of destruction and cultivation; warriors and farmers; action and reaction. March is the season that welcomes both. At 47, so do I.
It snowed one day. It was 70 degrees the next. Flowers are confused. Such is March. Strong winds wreaked havoc on Ohio. Trees fallen in the storm became firewood for a future campfire night. Newton was right about action and reaction. Whoever said, “wood warms you twice” never fell it, limbed it, chainsawed it, hauled it, and stacked it. Because I’ve been warmed about eight times now.
My third month of journaling. Third time's a charm. 62 treadmill miles, 10 Beli stops, and two stadium hot dogs when I should have only had one. Indulgence and regret. Passed mile marker 47. First poison ivy of the season. 24 hours without power when that wind storm hit. And zero flights.
Celebrated 50 years of a company I've spent 15 of my own with. Half a century behind, a lifetime ahead. Recognized an important teammate for achieving excellence. The kind of moment that reminds you why we cultivate as much as we conquer. Kicked a soccer ball for the first time in my life, sharing a field with people half my age. Felt ridiculous. Felt proud. Watched the Columbus Crew from the stands with two stadium hot dogs in hand. Sometimes you play. Sometimes you cheer from the sidelines.
A philosophical evening with Neil deGrasse Tyson and the cosmic perspective. I am small and I am large. I am stardust. Connected to the universe and the universe is connected to me. Had to get glasses to rediscover my vision. Everything was always there, it’s just sharper now. Watching life in 4K. Nuclear sclerosis and exploded stars in my retinas. Both true at once.
Small rhythms held March together as the wind knocked down trees. Discounted Bran Flakes from Aldi are tastier than ever before. Chicken liver mousse not so much. Maybe it’s my age. Enjoyed soft jazz in the air, a Red Sky at Night in the glass, and Salmon Wellington on the plate. Told campfire stories about Ranger Bob in a corporate meeting room he never visited. Connected him to people he’d never met. Still paying the cat tax. Up the irons.
Destruction and cultivation. Routine habits and first attempts. Seeing clearly while my head's in the clouds. Lions and lambs. That's the duality of a month fighting for balance.
