A Sportsman's Life Loss And Found

What to do when life hands you a cinder block.

- Bill Heavey

AROUND THE TIME you think you’ve earned a bit of peace and predictability, life springs the trap door beneath your feet, your feet churn like in a Road Runner cartoon, and you start to fall. “I’m too old for this crap,” you protest as you plummet. To which life shrugs and smiles. “Maybe not.”

While no single part of the crap I’m too old for is remarkable, the combo platter is more than I bargained for. To wit:

• I’m recently and unwillingly single, six months out of a seven-year relationship that—for all its faults—was the most solid I’ve had. I miss my ex when I’m awake or asleep but am fine the rest of the time. She seems to have grieved and moved on. The very notion of the grief “process” eludes me. I understand processed cheese, hair, and tax returns. But grief? I might as well ask my garbage disposal to process a cinder block.

• I’m back in a town I left four years ago so I can be closer to Emma during her senior year of high school. By the time you read this, she’ll have graduated and decamped to Denver with her mom. By then I’ll need to be in a smaller house with lower rent. That will take more initiative than I’ve been able to muster in months.