I am not someone who is typically able to look back in time and recall the results of a game. In a favorable light, it’s because I was present or perhaps I have perspective. Just as likely, my memory isn’t what it used to be. In the moment, however, my heart races and the questions feel critical - ball or strike? Direct or indirect? How much time is left? Later though, it’s hard for me to remember what happened. It doesn’t really matter beyond that season. But if the result ultimately doesn’t matter - the practicing, rushing around, performing - what’s it all for? What actually does matter?
I’m learning to focus on small wins. Not the win or loss of the game that I won’t remember much beyond its completion. But the small wins like a seamless carpool, kids singing in the backseat. Watching someone swing and swing, and finally get the hit. The mom who takes the video of your kid scoring a goal because you’re too nervous that recording it will jinx the play. The rain that held off. And, the rain that didn’t, because that’s a pretty memorable story too. Small wins like sideline siblings becoming best buddies and finding the perfect sideline chair. The small win of your son counting notes on the piano as he learns to play. Many small wins could also be described as gentle wins. Those soft experiences that time gives us. When your youngest takes a little longer to get the hang of riding a bike. Then you realize that maybe this win wasn’t long overdue, instead time waited until you were ready to let go. The small win of not always being able to keep up as the boys joyfully ride down their own paths.
Our summer was full of activities at the ball park, on the field, in the neighborhood, and at lessons. We also recorded small wins at the farm. Caterpillars that become monarch butterflies - 31 to be exact (Don't worry, I fact checked with Oliver). Small wins like finally climbing to the top of the ridge, starting your own fire, and driving the Gator by yourself. Even though these Gator rides may or may not have led to replacing the steering rod. Small wins of plentiful sunshine and abundant rain. Small wins of tag-teaming mowing the farm, because the rain and sun don't only grow trees. The small win of getting stronger for shearing. Every tree I got to shear was a win; the trophy looking more like sap-covered clothing. One I accepted with sore arms, from a ladder, and on my tippy toes. Despite the theme, I'll admit that any really tall trees that get harvested might be actually be considered big wins.
It is helpful to think about how some of those wins felt big in the moment. The place in the tournament, the league standings, the games that came down to that one play. But after a little time, those wins end up being small, almost forgettable. It's the little successes that make up and stand out as the biggest wins.
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