I spend a lot of time and money on football.
I go to a lot of parties celebrating it.
I support those who love it and live it.
And on that day after the Super Bowl, I was
relieved that football season is over for now. Having a breather from arranging
my life around football – either watching it or avoiding it – is welcome.
It’s not that I’m morally opposed to football.
It’s just not interesting to me. I don’t care about it. I feel about football
the way other people feel about opera, or the way engines work, or astrology, or
the feeding habits of mackerel, or Project Runway. Football just isn’t my bag.
And yet, because those important to me love
football, I spend a lot of my life on football.
It is weird to not be into something that your
friends and family are really, really
into a lot of the time. I can’t speak meaningfully about football, recall details
about it, or join the excitement that follows it. You’d think that just by
association I’d be more into it, but instead I withdraw when the subject rolls
around. I’ve been told “If you tried to understand it, you would!” “If you
learned how it’s played, it would make more sense!” Well, of course. But I’ve achieved my peak level of interest in
the game. I know enough to know I don’t want to know more.
It occurred to me, the day after the Super Bowl, that though I love the people around me who love football, I haven’t really been working that hard to do the things that I find interesting.
It’s my own fault for not looking out for
myself better, but it’s also a consequence of being a mom and wife. I’m used to
helping others with their own interests and putting mine to the side. I put my
interests first a few years ago when I started writing, but even that fell by
the wayside as my family’s interests became more demanding and I became more involved
in supporting them.
I’ve spent years giving to others so that their
lives can function, to the sacrifice of my own interests. It’s cool to give yourself
to others, but when you have filled your life with the lives of others, the
life is sort of squeezed out of you.
So the day after the Super Bowl, I wondered
just what is it that interests me?
So many other things, I remembered. Faith. History.
Other cultures. Working with others. Movies. Art. Languages. Reading. Writing.
Football didn’t make the cut.
But how do you get back to what interests you,
after a time of only being interested in what others are interested in?
You start small.
What can I do? I can read. I can dust off my
blog for the hundredth time and get back to writing. The Oscars are coming up
and I never miss watching. I can go to the movies to see all the Best Picture
nominees, something I want to do every year but have never, ever done.
My interests are many. You’d never know it. I
almost forgot, too.
*******
