Growing up, sports weren’t just about the game itself; they were about the people, the food, the laughter, and the hum of conversation that filled our home. My mother—an Irish Catholic woman with a gift for hospitality—made Sundays special. Win or lose, the Packers game was a backdrop for something greater: community. Friends and family would gather, plates filled, voices rising and falling in a rhythm as natural as breathing. What I remember most isn’t the score but the warmth of belonging.
I played many sports in school, and for a while, I believed I was pretty good at tennis. That is, until I met players who lived and breathed the game. I thought I was skilled—until I wasn’t. And that realization, humbling as it was, became a lesson that stretched far beyond the court.
Milosz wrote, “Learning—to believe you are magnificent, and to gradually discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.” I’ve carried that wisdom with me. Sports, like life, teach us that greatness is relative, that humility is the gateway to deeper understanding, and that the true game is not about winning but about how we show up, how we engage, and who we become in the process.
These days, I don’t watch the Packers as much. The buzz of conversation and the joy of shared experience remain, but now, they take a different form. As an art teacher surrounded by artistic children, my time is spent building and making—creating for the joy of it and sometimes for the joy it may bring to others. The act of creation has become my sport, my way of fostering community. Whether it’s painting, sculpting, or simply making something with my children, I’ve found that the lessons of the game remain: effort, connection, humility, and the thrill of participation.
Because in the end, the real victory isn’t in the scoreboard but in the stories we create along the way.
Forming 2.0 
I excelled in sports as a kid. My excellence was anecdotal. I was homeschooled and wasn’t allowed to play in public school sports. One of the guys who went to my church was the second fasted runner in the state, and I could outrun him. That told me all I needed to know about my excellence. Our races were playing backyard football and nothing like a track, but that was all I needed to feel good about myself. I’ve grown up since then.
LikeLiked by 1 person