June 3, 2018 9:45 AM Seattle, WA
Headphones on, I stepped onto the Seattle waterfront from the stairs I had just ran down at the Washington State Ferries terminal. There were people everywhere. Tourists, Mariners fans, homeless people (this is just the sad reality of Seattle that constantly greets me.) I took a quick photo in the surprisingly blinding overcast light as the next song began to play.
"Faith, Please have a little in me. Hey. I know you hate it when I stray but I tried everything I drank the wine and stained the sheets. I'm clumsy when I speak. Call. You never call me anymore. We're past the point of self-control. I'm giving back to you, things I thought were true. I know its really nothing new. Fear. That's what it was just to be clear. You went and made everything weird but that's another song. Another night, a shot of rum. I guess whats done is done. Bright, I fought and stumbled towards the light. I miss the days and nights we wrestled in my bedroom. My knees will give out soon. I guess its really nothing new. God, where the hell are you hiding? My hands are in the air its so exciting. I've been on the run, so I'm not coming Sunday its alright. I'll probably talk to you at midnight. God, I can never be like you. I can't change, I can't change and I don't want to. I'm not coming Sunday, its alright. I'll probably talk to you at midnight."
This was my warm up. My time to get my mind and muscles sharp and ready for the day before me. As that song began to play in my ears I thought about the fact that it was Sunday, that just three years ago, I never would have been here on a Sunday. And I thought about how Memorial Stadium had become my new temple. Not during the games and the crowd filled moments of cheering. Those are amazing. But in the silent spaces I sit in alone or nearly alone as we prepare it for game day and crowds. Sometimes Its just me for a moment, sometimes there are staff, volunteers, coaches or stray players. But its quiet. Its reverent in Memorial Stadium. It is my celestial room.
I walked for a bit and then I would sprint intervals. When I hit a sprint my muscles would feel so happy, though my lungs would burn a bit. My mind ran with me as I went. I thought about a coming discussion my friend Matt had brought up the night before. He wanted to talk to me about the Hinkle controversy that had broke out this week, and about the coming Seattle Pride match against North Carolina on June 23rd. The Tyler Glenn song set the stage for this perfectly, reminding me of all the times where I had pushed down how I truly felt about LGBT issues because my faith required it. And I thought about all the times Christianity had wounded me as a queer person.
I thought about my ex-fiancee, who was a Lesbian Christian woman of deep faith and equally deep wounds from it. I thought about my many LGBTQ friends that had held on to their faith and found a way to connect to something that at times had also wounded and othered them. I've been exploring this theme a lot for myself lately. I have no remaining belief in Christianity, but I do have spiritual beliefs. I noticed in myself a pattern to believe in things that are magical, spiritual, and beyond the realm of provable science. I don't call or believe these things to be God. Just some force of connection humans, animals, the world around us, and even the universe share, that links and binds and empowers us. But because I've been wounded by religion, I will sometimes pretend to dismiss things I actually do believe to protect myself from getting hurt. As I've thought about this I've also thought about how I used to find so much beauty in other peoples beliefs, even when they were vastly different from my own. I lost that, and I've been trying to get it back, and trying to stop dismissing my own beliefs. Thinking about these things made me feel a little more compassion toward Hinkle, while also pushing for the balance to support and uplift those being hurt by her words.
With my brain mentioning Matt, a sudden realization dawned on me. Yup. I wanted to have my Kop moment. But I didn't want it to be a forced moment standing in the fan zone where I take a signature or a selfie and its just ink and a picture. That wasn't my desire. My desire was a meaningful two way exchange, like the ones I missed, simple yet powerful and sometimes completely undocumented. So my brain reminded me that Matt is very thoughtful and this year he made these amazing "Once a favorite, always a favorite" canvas thing he gives the players that used to play for us when they come to visit, along with a favorite treat. Matt isn't randomly just doing this, he heads up one of two Seattle Reign Supporters groups, so this is a thing from the supporters to show we still care.
As I was running, I realized I needed to ask Matt if I could be the one to give Haley Kopmeyer her "Once a favorite." I realized that I really wanted this in that moment, and then it scared me. Because now I had to ask Matt, and I didn't know how he would feel about that, or where he gave them out, or even if it would be possible. But I was determined at that point to ask, even though my anxiety was rising. My actions were being influenced by what I honestly admitted I wanted. Then Macklemore started to sing again, and my planned actions were carved into stone.
"Got a Guns n' Roses tee shirt. Never listened to the band. Just being honest. I just though that shit looked cool. Hold up, do you know who I am? Turn the block to Woodstock. Retire? Don't think that I could stop. Jet-ski the way I ride the beast and fuck you I'ma die knowing that I did me. I got some words and I cannot let them die in me. This is arena status, our bones end up in the ground, does it even matter? Make some good music, get what you put in, get out and go and leave the planet. Now what the hell did you think this is? we born worth dying in-between we live. Love, prosper, hands to the sky catch a gospel. Roll the dice, nah I ain't betting on tomorrow. Chain looking like Orion's belt. Jacket looking something like a lion pelt. Had to take a break and find myself. they put me in a box by myself. The same writers criticizing my rhymes are the same writers that I gentrify in Bed-Stuy. I can't even see the hate, I should probably check my eyes, I got 50,000 phones pointed at me in the sky. Between a rock and a hard place. Cold blunted with a stone face. Firebreather, firebreather. What the fuck you think I'm doing it for? Hungry like it's my rookie year and I'm new to the sport The game is tied up and they looking at you in the forth. Do you take the shot or pass it? This is ten thousand hours and I'm working on my Master's liabilities and assets. And I'm showing up to practice, shooting early getting baskets. Abracadabra that motherfucker is magic. Firebreather.
I ran up the stairs at the sculpture park warming up for that tarp and those stairs at Memorial.When I hit the top of the stairs, I pause. A new slow song came on. It was 10:07 AM, and my meditation began.
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