That Swagger

Three or four times a year, I have to attend an 'offsite' team meeting. These atypical work days are designed to get the group thinking and bonding in a way they wouldn't normally in a cubicle trimmed office setting. The walls come down, the room is ventilated prefaced by the shielding words of 'no offense', we uncover some pebbles, and five days later skip them out to sea again.

Generally, these provocative meetings start with an ice breaker; a moment to find some odd ball connection between the person whose name you don't remember and yourself. After the ice is broken, and everyone feels more at ease to say whatever is top of mind, heated, sided arguments cast a disintegrating mood across the circle of trust. The claws come out as the neutral mediator feigns disbelief of the determined dialogue. As the clock inches closer to 2:00 PM, the hour that dismisses us for the day, the last person to spew their verbal garbage is silenced in service of peace and freedom. There is a Kumbaya moment, we hug it out, and we quickly rebuild whatever bridges have just been burned. Miraculously, we are in a better place for the time being.

With all that said, I want to focus on the ice breaker though. The designated twenty minutes where you go around the room and say something about yourself that brings a little more humanity to your cog-like character. I actually love this part of the meeting. I look forward to it. And this weekend, I found myself thinking about the responses I've cast over the past two or three years.

What are you most proud of?
My kids.

What inspires you?
My family.

If you could live anywhere, where would it be?
Pittsburgh. (With my family.)
Seriously?

Name something that people might not know about you.
...

This was the most recent example. And it took some thinking. My mind went to my present state of life. Everyone knows I'm a mom. Everyone knows my family comes first. They now know I'll take a position in Pittsburgh if it presents itself. What else was there?

Oh. That. Yes. That!
I was a high school All-American in lacrosse.
I was recruited by the University of Notre Dame to play the sport.
Sophomore year, I won a starting role on one of the top ten teams in the nation.
I monogrammed at Notre Dame three years in a row.
I was one of the top ten scorers in the program's history. A fleeting stat of course.
I was all Big East.
I wore a long braided pony tail every game, an ND monogrammed sweat band that matched my arm band, a gold kilt, the number 7, goggles, and a mouth guard that hid the proud smile of a player who could never really understand how this opportunity had come her way.

When I told my coworkers about my athletic prowess; the majority had no idea. And because my two minutes spent resurrecting my glory days quickly moved to the next person whose role in the annual bird census was far more interesting, it didn't seem like many people cared. I placed it as a footnote in my past; where it seemed better suited.

***

Yesterday, we all drove up to Milwaukee to see my (college All-American) teammate, coach her team to (near) victory in a chilly, river side match against the UConn Huskies. I hadn't watched a lacrosse game in about 8 years. I felt as rusty assessing the sport as I am with my stick. But as I heard the roster called out over the loud speaker, as I saw the players take the field; as the ball flew up in the air on the first draw, and as the competition got under way, I felt it again: that pride, that passion, that part of myself that I had shelved with my trophies.

I watched Meredith pace the sidelines; clap vigorously for her teammates; stomp her foot and turn her back to the play when it didn't go as planned; channel her frustration into a teaching moment; and swagger on and off the field, like she always had.

I was so proud watching her; one of us had gone on to mold the next generation of athletes. She had spent the past decade coaching; and excelling at at. Most recently, she had won the opportunity to start and build a program from scratch at Marquette University. And from what I saw on the field, she was on her way toward grooming a character driven, Midwestern powerhouse.

Watching, I missed the sport. And I missed the person I was when I was playing it. I am still very proud of the role I played on my collegiate lacrosse team. And sidelined, telling Mary about how Mommy used to throw and catch, run and shoot like that, put that pride top of mind.

I think it's great for every Mom, and Dad, to pin point that other thing, or things, that made them shine before their kids took center stage. Because likely, there's something still there. A part of that past that needs to live and breath again. To cook or paint. Play or swim. Sing or dance. Explore or exert. Swagger on and off the field, and into the workplace.

And the funny thing is, most times, what makes us proud, makes our families even prouder.

Lo.