Remembering How

We went to the park the other day. It was a perfect July afternoon. The blue sky, the yellow sun, the few clouds. There was a slight, refreshing breeze. Sunlight shown on my family's faces as we grilled out and threw a football and a frisbee.

For the first time in a long time I felt the urge to have a real camera in my hand. Not a digital. A completely-manual, film camera. I've missed capturing these moments... these perfect opportunities to capture shadow and detail.

Before it was time to go we brought out the volleyball.

Last summer I played volleyball with my uncle and his girlfriend. I learned a vital lesson from Marty that summer... and a few things about how to play the game.

So I picked up the volleyball again this July. But it felt foreign in my hand. Too heavy or too light maybe... but the ball was the same size. Almost like my hands were different. I embarrassed myself over and over again, feeling my trademark shut-down, my signature "quitting before it gets too hard".

And then everyone looked away. I had been telling Jordan all day long about muscle memory. He had said he hadn't played volleyball in years, but that he used to play every spring break. "Your muscles will remember," I told him. But I didn't apply that logic to myself.

Then everyone looked away. For once, everyone's back was turned to me. I am not one to thrive under pressure... with the lack of attention, I took the ball in my hand again. I held it until it felt right. Until I remembered how it used to feel - what it was supposed to feel like.

And I sent it clear over the net.

These days I am learning to do things I never learned how to do as a child. I'm getting dirty, sleeping outside, laughing until my belly hurts, laying on the floor.

But there are things I feel like I'm forgetting how to do. Things I want desperately to remember. To hold on to. As my self fluctuates and grows and changes, there are pieces I don't want to lose.

I feel like I've forgotten how to tell a story.

Funny. All my life, when I've gone to my mother with complaints about writer's block, she just shrugs and says "Just keep writing".

Muscle memory. Repeating until the muscles remember. Until the ball feels right in your hand. Until the words ring true on the page.

I'm remembering how.