Confessions

Every Wednesday at Governor Dummer Academy, I sat in chapel from 7:45 until 8:00am and listened to someone from the community give a short speech, share a story, a piece of advice, a song, or some sort of insight into their lives. It's arguably the tradition I miss the most from high school. I learned so much about my peers and my teachers that I never would have learned through typical daily interactions, and I received the best life advice during those 15 minutes each week. My confession is that I secretly have saved a lot of recorded chapel speeches in my iTunes and I listen to them every so often to be reminded of the incredible people I met at that school and the lessons that have greatly affected the course of my life. One of my favorite speeches is my basketball coach O'Connell's speech that she delivered shortly after the devastating events of Hurrican Katrina had left her previous home of New Orleans in ruins. She opens with a quote from a book called The Real American Dream, and it reads "Human beings need to organize the sensations amid which we pass our days--pain, desire, pleasure, fear--in to a story. When that story leads somewhere and thereby helps us navigate through life, it gives us hope. We must imagine some end of life that transcends our own tiny allotment of days and hours if we are to keep at bay the dim suspicion that one may be adrift in an absurd world." Dense stuff, I'll pause to let that sink in.

She continues to tell her story of how the storm had impacted her despite being 15,000 miles away and of all her friends who lost homes, jobs, cars. She talks of her visit to New Orleans that November to see her old students, players, and colleagues. Her questions of past visits consisted of how their teams were doing, where they were applying to college, and what was the latest gossip. In just a short year's time, the relevant questions drastically transitioned to whether their houses were still standing, whether their families were still together, whether they could ever move back to New Orleans after being evacuated. She said it was one of the most difficult things she has ever done, to see so much of what made her friends who they were (sense of place, community, belonging) destroyed in an instant. She talked about her attempt to try to find a lesson despite all the tragedy; she initially questioned her passion for coaching basketball and thought that maybe she should put more time and energy into something more 'impactful' on a worldwide scale, or perhaps she thought she should just cut back on her intensity as a coach since there are worse things than losing. She quoted an old colleague who she described as the 'most intense football coach she had ever met' who had this admirable ability to leave his emotions on the field. "The streetcars will still run tomorrow," he used to say. But when the streetcars stop running, what happens with the role of sports in one's life? Especially O'Connell's. She pours her heart and soul into what she does, and exudes enthusiasm and a fierce competitive spirit, which was admittedly frightening at times for a girl who can't sink a jump shot if her life depended on it. However, she makes the distinction that sports aren't the determining factor in this lesson--it can be substituted out for anything that you invest your life in, whatever makes you you, and the feeling of loss if that were taken away. Her quote that hit me the hardest was this, "I cannot make basketball a less important part of my life and I shouldn't try. It is who I am, it is what makes me me, and for that reason it is important. I think I am more intense this season because I feel a renewed sense of urgency. I want to impart these lessons to my team. I want them to love the game and to love each other. I want them to find their place, their sense of community that gives them hope, and for the first time in my life I understand that this is a great privilege to be together now. Here. In this moment."

She succeeded in doing all those things. I still can't sink a jump shot if my life depended on it, but I loved the game, and I loved my teammates. And I miss both of those things but I have found my place working towards achieving those same goals for the Estrellas. I have hope that my story is starting to lead somewhere instead of feeling very adrift as I felt nearing the end of my senior year of college. Listening to her speech again renewed my sense of urgency, which had subsided after having developed such a high level of comfort after living here for two and a half months. My time is limited and I have a lot to do. Maybe there are more important things in life than playing soccer with these girls, but 'team' is what makes me me, and has changed the course of my life and I think changing the course of lives seems pretty darn important to me at this moment. 

Tonight I was running around Tres Pisos getting the necessary materials together to run our activity and paying attention to little else. Hasly came inside, though the girls are supposed to wait outside on the stoop until we are ready for them to come in. I was about to ask her to go back outside, but she said, "Kelly, tienes la cámara?" (Do you have your camera?) Yes, why? I asked her. "Vení," she said. (Cmon!) She pulled me upstairs to the third floor balcony to show me this.

Probably most importantly, I am reminded that this is a privilege for me. I am able to live out my passion day in and day out thanks to so much emotional and financial support from people back home, and I am able to simply be present. Here. In this moment. And together with some amazing, amazing young girls.

Thanks OC. Sorry to be a creep!

Amor, paz, y fútbol

KPope