I was writing about my tragedy as a soccer player with two years left to prove otherwise. I’d let down a team that would eventually ask me to be their Captain, and I was unaware of the connection that I’d forge between writing and my emotions.
I rolled off the highway into the neighborhood that’s the only one in Chicago that’s ever felt like a hood to me, and I was at the tail end of a trip downtown to likely spend as much time parking as I’d spend sitting at the restaurant with three or four old friends for an hour catching up.
I guess that’s why I can’t answer the question, “What can’t you live without?” without making an attempt to determine what makes me different than other people, which may be complete hogwash…but I think it’s also part of the answer.