Muscle memory

This blog is inspired by life. My own and others. Recently, my own included stress-clenched jaws, occasional napping in my car, a flurry of thoughts not easily slowing down. And others...?

FEEL. I am on a train to the airport. A week is nearly finished. My plane does not leave until 8pm. With a muscle memory of a busy bee I sit at a table, pull out my laptop, plug it in while hot-spotting internet and responding to some text messages, plus tracking stocks, plus reading news. Deadly efficient, same as ever.

The train stops. I am suddenly surrounded by... other human beings. Nearly sure I am making a mistake, with a discrete sigh I move over to the window seat, creating space for a group of six women to sit together on my side and across the aisle. Great, I was just going to respond to these truly important emails.

The women in their early thirties appear to be a group of friends heading out to the airport for a weekend getaway. Momentarily, I am engulfed in chatter. From demands of raising young children, conversations with co-workers to getting nails done, wedding photographers and holiday plans. Suddenly my serious responses are completely interlaced with lives of others. Trying to tune out some noise, I put my headphones on and decide for an uncomplicated, upbeat pop. Why not!

Few minutes in, something has changed. I am sitting in an afternoon sun. Music feels soothing. I close the lid of my notebook and put away the phone. The chatter dissolves and instead I am simply witnessing a spectacle of body language and facial expressions. It strikes me how relaxed and joyful the women are. How clearly they enjoy each other's company. The getaway, wherever it leads, feels like a pretext for some emotional relief.

At the end of train journey, I am smiling too. I feel cleansed. Suddenly all these deadly important things I wanted to finish are not that pressing anymore. 

Convince me human connection is not infectious?

DO. Fast forward to the next morning, a rebirth of feeling continues.

I am walking my dogs, sipping coffee. No time ticking. A small girl, less than two years old, walks with her mother. Well, half walks, half runs. Small feet moving at the pace of 3-4 steps per each of the adults. It feels as if she could not wait to live through her day. Visceral rush to be oneself and explore the world two blocks away. 

I drive my boy to his guitar class in a seaside town of Blackrock. My favorite pastime while I wait for the new Kirk Hammett to finish is sitting by the shore, reading or simply staring at the sea. I missed breakfast so I grab a lemon chicken roll at a nearby cafe. I don't think I ever had a sandwich that tasted so delicious!

We are back home mid-day. The sky is bright, the day is sunny. My son has put his roller blades on before I even managed to drag bags of groceries inhouse. Overwhelmed by an instinct, I dress in shorts, take two basketballs, sunglasses and water bottle and I am off to a nearby court. 

I meet my son there. We both dribble, take some shots, talk.

I have not set my feet on a basketball court for more than ten years. It does not take much time though to dust off some old moves. At the end of the practice, despite spine and knees carrying the lifetime of fatigue, coupled with all too generous body weight - I feel I still got it.

We are back to the court the next day. And the next.

THINK. On my way back from the court that day I meet an elderly gentleman walking his dog. We strike a casual conversation (when you live in Ireland, very often it is hard not to!). He happens to be a now retired, 80-year-old piano player. He is interested in my story of over two decades of competitive basketball, and a very long break from it. I reflect on the sport choices I have been making. Wishing I could undo some.

We both discuss muscle memory, and how some body instincts never disappear.

The pop music is on, again.