- Get link
- X
- Other Apps
There’s a certain light to a Sunday afternoon in the fall that I know by heart. It’s the kind that slants through the living room window, catching dust motes in the air, while the low, familiar murmur of the game plays from the television. It’s been the soundtrack to so many quiet moments—folding laundry on the sofa, watching our little one build a tower of blocks on the rug, the gentle clink of coffee mugs in the kitchen.
For as long as I can remember, the colors on that screen have been green and gold. It was my father’s team, and now it’s the one my husband follows with a quiet, steady devotion. It’s less about the shouting and the stats, and more about the ritual of it. A constant. Something you can count on when the seasons start to turn.
I’ve been thinking about that lately. About the stories we tell ourselves about loyalty, and the people we see as fixtures in our lives. You get so used to seeing the same person leading the charge, the familiar face under the helmet. They become part of the family rhythm, in a way. And it feels strange and a little unsettling when you hear whispers that they might not be there next year. It’s just a game, of course. But it feels like more.
It reminds me of how things change, even the things we assume are permanent. It’s the feeling of a favorite neighborhood shop closing down, or a close friend moving away. That small ache of realizing a chapter is ending. You can understand all the reasons why—people grow, priorities shift, new paths emerge—but it doesn’t make the feeling any less real.
You watch these players, these people, give so much of themselves to their team. And for years, our family, along with so many others, has built our Sunday afternoons around them. We’ve watched the Green Bay packers through wins and losses, feeling the collective breath of a whole community rise and fall with them.
It makes you think about what it means to belong to something, and what it means to leave. There’s no easy answer, just the quiet truth that everything, even the things that feel like they’ll last forever, eventually takes a different shape. And all we can do is sit with it, here in the soft afternoon light, and wait to see what comes next.
What are the constants you hold onto in your own seasons of change? 🧸
For as long as I can remember, the colors on that screen have been green and gold. It was my father’s team, and now it’s the one my husband follows with a quiet, steady devotion. It’s less about the shouting and the stats, and more about the ritual of it. A constant. Something you can count on when the seasons start to turn.
I’ve been thinking about that lately. About the stories we tell ourselves about loyalty, and the people we see as fixtures in our lives. You get so used to seeing the same person leading the charge, the familiar face under the helmet. They become part of the family rhythm, in a way. And it feels strange and a little unsettling when you hear whispers that they might not be there next year. It’s just a game, of course. But it feels like more.
It reminds me of how things change, even the things we assume are permanent. It’s the feeling of a favorite neighborhood shop closing down, or a close friend moving away. That small ache of realizing a chapter is ending. You can understand all the reasons why—people grow, priorities shift, new paths emerge—but it doesn’t make the feeling any less real.
You watch these players, these people, give so much of themselves to their team. And for years, our family, along with so many others, has built our Sunday afternoons around them. We’ve watched the Green Bay packers through wins and losses, feeling the collective breath of a whole community rise and fall with them.
It makes you think about what it means to belong to something, and what it means to leave. There’s no easy answer, just the quiet truth that everything, even the things that feel like they’ll last forever, eventually takes a different shape. And all we can do is sit with it, here in the soft afternoon light, and wait to see what comes next.
What are the constants you hold onto in your own seasons of change? 🧸
Image: Visual related to the article topic
Comments
Post a Comment