Is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true? Dr. Archibald Graham, Field of Dreams.
When I was a kid, I listened to the Reds on radio every night they played. It was poetry. It was ritual.
The three-two pitch, rounding third, on deck, hey batter batter.
My brother and I would take our gloves to Crosley Field, dreaming of the fly ball that could reach the unreachable bleachers in the outfield. We would arrive early to try and get a player's autograph. I got one once and never lived it down. I mean who didn't want third-base coach George Scherger's autograph?
Today I know more about baseball movies than I do actual baseball. My son tells me that the Reds offense looks good but we are in a rebuilding year.
What I do know is that despite the perceived strength of this year's team, our entire town will soon kick-off the season with a parade. Despite the score of today's game, thousands will come to watch the Reds play tomorrow. Rain or shine, we show up. Season after season after season.
The crack of the bat. The seventh inning stretch. Sliding into home.
I had an amazing start to my season. I was committed to my practices so 2016 looked like I might go to the World Series of happiness. I visited Asia in February and fine-tuned my game with service, daily meditation and yoga. I came home super charged on all fronts, filled with mad love for the game of life.
Then I had a few losses and I lost steam.
A swing and a miss!
I spent a bit too much time in my head, analyzing the strike outs rather than fortifying the rituals that keep me at bat. Then I leaned into the anniversary of my mother's death with her beloved rituals: sleep and isolation.
It's time for a new season to begin. It's time to practice the every-day rituals that add up to magic.
Ready? Let's play ball.