Benny Sip

Poetry

On Relearning How To Play

Somewhere along the way, I stopped playing the game. Continuing in the name of strengthening an identity I spent years building. Constantly reinforcing in the name of nothing more than looking good, the potential of fame and glory and being able to say to someone, often a complete stranger, in order to impress, “I, I am a professional athlete.”

It was all in vain and had nothing at all to do with the game itself. The game I began playing as an eight year old for fun, with my friends, for the sheer sake of it, done for nothing else aside from losing oneself in the total engagement of it all. And somewhere along they way, I simply forgot what it felt like to play. What it meant. What the game meant.

But, I do believe we can return to the game again, somewhat resembling the children we began as. The return, the coming back, of course, depends upon the having left. Fortunately or unfortunately, whatever, I had to leave the game in order to come back again. In order to remember how it felt. How it felt, to be eight years old again, playing, pretending, imagining, seeing the game through the eye’s of a kid, for what it was - a game. Something to be played. Something to be kept at arms length. Something not to be used for the sake of my own name, that perhaps once upon a time, a few complete strangers knew, but hadn’t a clue in the world as to who I really was or am, or even cared at all.

We must relearn what it feels like to play, that is if one is interested in such a thing. While we are still able. While we still can. While we still have the chance. Because one day, perhaps sooner than one expects, there will be no chance at coming back, there will be no coming back, only the having left.

~ On Relearning How To Play ~

Ben Sippola