To Be a Hopeless Romantic...

To be a hopeless romantic is a curse and a blessing, often getting mixed up with one another.
To be a hopeless romantic is to never know when you are simply being a girl and when you are being a complete mess (which go hand in hand more often than not).
To be a hopeless romantic means heartbreaks and let down more often than being swept off your feet.  It means that you will tangle yourself so tightly into someone's story, into the song that makes them dance, into their life, only to get stuck and constricted.
It means that your joy and your appreciation for the beautiful things so easily get stomped on and you are so quickly left to pick up the pieces of your yet again shattered heart.

But...

To be a hopeless romantic means that all of the knots you tangled yourself into will one day be untied, one by one, forming one thick, strong rope.  And at the other end will be someone else who had gotten themselves just as hopelessly constricted in you as you were in them.  And just like that, all you will see is them, standing at the end of the rope, and it will all make sense.  All the times you tied yourself to someone and got no where were just times that you had tied yourself to the wrong person.  You will realize that this time, in your struggle to untie your own knots, you end up untying unfamiliar rope that had found its way into your nest of knots.  As you loosen one knot, you feel yourself become looser, calmer, but at the same time, more stable.  As you untie their rope, you feel yourself taking another step forward, the straight line pulling you along.  As you untie the last knot you look up to see the story you had read over and over again, longing to be a part of it.  You hear the song you had played on repeat over and over again, wishing to find someone to make it a duet.  You look up to see the life you had hopelessly dreamed about having since you were little... And you realize that those things are incomplete without you in them and they in you.

To be a hopeless romantic is to be constantly cocooning yourself until just the right breeze comes along and cracks your shell wide open.

Wistful Thoughts of a Summer Past

**Written in August, 2014

You make me weak inside.  You make me shy.  You make me unable to speak when I'm alone with you.  You make it so hard to breathe.  You make me act like an idiot, more so than I already do.  You make me all the things I am not used to being.  You make me vulnerable and you break down that strong barrier I put up.  You break it down without knowing.  You help me break it down because I want to know you.  I want to know you for all that you are.  I want to know what makes you love music so much.  I want to know what melodies play through your head while you're walking past the lake and while you're singing softly to yourself.  I want to know why you're so quite.  I want to be quite with you.  I want to know you.
You are so different and you make me feel so different.  I love the way that I have no idea how to act around you.

Yet you have no idea.

Unseen But Not Undefined

I have never written about field hockey before, which is really strange considering it has been my life for the past 10 years.

I guess until now, I never really had a reason to combine my passion for writing with my passion for field hockey.  The bulk of my pivotal field hockey years has been full of tactics, drills, hours upon hours of practices that felt like going to work everyday and harsh words that I thought were the only way I would be motivated.  And honestly, who wants to write about that?

It wasn't until this season, my second being a Richmond Spider, that I finally have stories of love and joy AND field hockey to infuse into my writing.

I am completely overwhelmed with joy and humbled by the love that I have been surrounded with these last two seasons.  It is incomparable to anything else I have ever been a part of and I'm going to venture out on a limb and say that nothing in the future is going to compare to this experience.

All the sweat, all the tears, all the turf spiders, all the beep tests, all the sweet frog team dates, all the bus rides, all the wins, all the losses...  that's what Spider Hockey is.

I love each and every single Spider like a sister and after having been a part of a team where it was mostly just business, I am so thankful.  Sure, my high school team was united in our goals, and sure, I know for a fact that a lot of the girls made bonding friendships, but I never quite fit there.  But that's okay because I fit here.

My Spiders made me love the feel of a new grip, something I never noticed before.
My Spiders made me love the sound of the ball thwacking that backboard.  That sound has new meaning now.  It doesn't just mean one more goal in a slew of 10 that we were required to get.  It means 1 more mini victory that each of us accomplished together, and that's enough to make my heart swell.
My Spiders made me love sprinting from behind the 50 to get ahead of the ball carrier who was busting her tail as hard as I was (which meant I needed to bust mine more).
My Spiders made me love bus rides.  In high school I used to have to fight to stay awake, and I used to shuffle down the aisle in no rush to get to my seat-for-one.  Now I shimmy down the aisles (probably doing a stupid dance) to get to my 20 sisters who are inevitably doing goofy things that I can't wait to join in on (like use candy corns as teeth).
My Spiders made me appreciate pillow talk (and experience it for the first time).
My Spiders made me fall in love with field hockey all over again.  And not just for the athleticism and the sweat and the thrill of scoring and the feeling of accomplishment when I actually plan out a move around a defender and it WORKS (which is rare)... no, not just for all these things.  I have fallen in love with field hockey all over again because now field hockey means family.

Field hockey means character, integrity, incredible work ethic, passion, sacrifice, joy, and most importantly, field hockey means love.

I cannot explain the feeling I get when I step on that turf, wearing my Spider uniform.  The whistle is about to blow and I've just come out of our pre-game huddle.  High fives have been given, secret handshakes have been executed, and our goalie has pulled her helmet over her face.  We are ready for battle.  I glance around me and my love for my spiders propels me, my feet itching to break the line. My stomach turns and adrenaline courses through my veins as I survey our opponent. But it doesn't matter who they are... In this moment, it only matters who WE are.

And WE ARE, UR!