The weekly pickup basketball game I play in shares the building with the Granville Center for the Arts. A group of 40-something men and some scrappy 9 and 11 year-olds, playing 3 on 3. 

I have no business being out there. I played one season in 7th grade and scored 2 points–the whole season. My son says I’m fun to guard because I’m taller than him, but that I get tired after half an hour. He’s not wrong. 

Last night, wearing my middle-aged exhaustion like a ratty coat and wincing from newfound pains in my feet and calves, I shuffled out of the gym to the sounds of the Irish music club–so many fiddles, guitars, a hammered dulcimer. The joy, the music, a room filled with smiles. I was lifted up. 

And I almost, just slightly,  felt like I could dance.

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