What I Live For
What I Live For
Why was I here? I had asked myself that question several times in the past week, completely puzzled. Why was I here – a goalie for the Chicago Blackhawks, the 2010 Stanley Cup champions? Was I talented? Maybe. Did I deserve to be here? That really has yet to be seen.
I sat in the Hawks locker room, thumbing at my goalie mask, staring at it blankly. Not a soul was in sight, and I took that little fact for granted. I didn’t want anyone around. I needed to think about everything all on my own, with nobody to disturb me.
To start with that first, all-important question, I had no idea why I was here besides the obvious, the technicalities. I am a hockey player; I live for this. I was called up to play goalie, and here I am, simple as that.
I should not be confused in the slightest. Things happen - that’s nothing new to anyone. This one has been a good thing, so I should be taking it for granted, not questioning it. If I’d questioned myself from the very beginning, would I be in the NHL? Probably not. I shouldn’t question my achievements, however small or large.
But I have a bit of a habit of doing things I shouldn’t do. I stared at my mask a little harder, not really seeing it. My thoughts swirled around my brain in a mess, and I just ended up where I’d started. Why, why the hell was I even here?
Again, my thoughts rested on the one answer that didn’t really seem like an answer: because it’s what I live for. This sport was everything to me. I’d worked my ass off to make it where I was, and there was really nothing else to it. Last year, I’d been the back-up goalie for the winners of the Stanley Cup. This year, I was making it big, in a sense. No, we weren’t on track to win the Cup again, but I was making a name for myself, and not just in Chicago. That was all I wanted, to be known in the sport I lived and breathed.
I heard a quiet scuffling noise in the background, but I paid no mind to it. Nobody would bother me. I was sure of that. Standing up from my seat in my little cubby-like space and setting my mask down where I had been sitting, I walked out the locker room door and down to the rink, picking up my skates on the way out. I needed a break from my own thoughts, and skating would be just the thing.
I took a seat on the bench, looking out on the ice. It was perfectly smooth, and there was just something about it that made my muscles and my mind relax a bit. This was the place I loved, where I always longed to be – an ice rink, a pond in the winter, anywhere with ice enough to skate on.
I laced up my skates tightly but comfortably and stepped out onto the surface of the ice. I knew then exactly where I belonged, and I didn’t need a reason for it. Hockey - the ice, the atmosphere of a game, being the one to make the big save. This was what I lived for, all I ever needed. I was a goalie, and that was all that mattered.
I sat in the Hawks locker room, thumbing at my goalie mask, staring at it blankly. Not a soul was in sight, and I took that little fact for granted. I didn’t want anyone around. I needed to think about everything all on my own, with nobody to disturb me.
To start with that first, all-important question, I had no idea why I was here besides the obvious, the technicalities. I am a hockey player; I live for this. I was called up to play goalie, and here I am, simple as that.
I should not be confused in the slightest. Things happen - that’s nothing new to anyone. This one has been a good thing, so I should be taking it for granted, not questioning it. If I’d questioned myself from the very beginning, would I be in the NHL? Probably not. I shouldn’t question my achievements, however small or large.
But I have a bit of a habit of doing things I shouldn’t do. I stared at my mask a little harder, not really seeing it. My thoughts swirled around my brain in a mess, and I just ended up where I’d started. Why, why the hell was I even here?
Again, my thoughts rested on the one answer that didn’t really seem like an answer: because it’s what I live for. This sport was everything to me. I’d worked my ass off to make it where I was, and there was really nothing else to it. Last year, I’d been the back-up goalie for the winners of the Stanley Cup. This year, I was making it big, in a sense. No, we weren’t on track to win the Cup again, but I was making a name for myself, and not just in Chicago. That was all I wanted, to be known in the sport I lived and breathed.
I heard a quiet scuffling noise in the background, but I paid no mind to it. Nobody would bother me. I was sure of that. Standing up from my seat in my little cubby-like space and setting my mask down where I had been sitting, I walked out the locker room door and down to the rink, picking up my skates on the way out. I needed a break from my own thoughts, and skating would be just the thing.
I took a seat on the bench, looking out on the ice. It was perfectly smooth, and there was just something about it that made my muscles and my mind relax a bit. This was the place I loved, where I always longed to be – an ice rink, a pond in the winter, anywhere with ice enough to skate on.
I laced up my skates tightly but comfortably and stepped out onto the surface of the ice. I knew then exactly where I belonged, and I didn’t need a reason for it. Hockey - the ice, the atmosphere of a game, being the one to make the big save. This was what I lived for, all I ever needed. I was a goalie, and that was all that mattered.