When you can’t play anymore
For many years I’ve been part of several overlapping groups that gathered around activities. Basketball, surfing, broadcast shows, home poker, watching sports. People naturally drop in and out for lots of reasons: time, health, interest, money, injuries. But in some situations, we gather to do the thing, and people who can no longer do the thing show up anyway. Sometimes I'm that person.
And it’s weird.
The thing, and the reason we can’t do it anymore, scarcely matters. When everyone is doing the thing, there’s a shared absorption, maybe more like a shared suspension of disbelief, that it’s about the group as much as the activity. But when one person present isn’t participating, it breaks down.
The ex-player standing on the side as former teammates play. Coming back to school after you’ve graduated. “I’ll just come and watch.” There’s a strong, subtle gravity of the activity that even friendship doesn’t transcend while it's happening. You’re out of place now. You’re an observer, and the activity is for participants. You’re a reminder that times together and shared activities end. You're a ghost.
It feels like there’s something to this, but I’m not sure what.