Upon logging into one of my accounts this morning, I was prompted to set a security question.

What is your favorite sport or activity?

I paused. The word in my head was “hockey”. Of course it was.

Of course it was, except it can’t be anymore. Because part of my ability to be okay with not playing comes from not holding on to the past. I was a hockey player. I’m no longer a hockey player. Hockey was my favorite sport. Hockey is no longer my favorite sport.

And yet, I’m unwilling to nominate a new favorite sport. I’m still processing. I’m not there yet.

I’m trying out new sports, trying out new identities.

I should have answered that question with, “Watching myself try to answer this question.”


  1. Can’t it still be your favorite? My favorite car will always and forever be my 1966 Galaxie 500, even though I will never get to drive it again. It’s the yardstick I’ve compared all my other cars to based on how they make me feel while I’m driving them. It’s not like I’ll never drive another car that I love, but it will always be the number one in my heart.

    • I have a favorite car as well, that I still drive in my dreams. I actively missed that car for a year when I sold it. I didn’t like feeling that way.

      I like cars, but for me, they’re ultimately just things. I like sports, and the difference here is that the sport I invest so much of my time in ultimately becomes a part of my identity.

      Feeling “that way” about something tied to my identity would be incredibly difficult. Not holding on is a conscious decision I’ve made, based on my past experience, along with the countless Facebook posts of hockey friends who feel miserable because they can’t play (generally a temporary condition, but miserable nonetheless).

      To frame it another way, and land us in squarely in Category:Meditation, attachment leads to suffering, so I’ve chosen not to attach.

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